Miles to Go Before I Sleep
by Ranowa Hikura
Summary: Mustang's lie to Ed about Hughes' death ends up having devastating consequences. Parental RoyEd.
1. Chapter 1

Rather short fic here, under ten chapters. Just so you know, while it's rated T, there'll be a chapter later on rated M (with appropriate warnings). Just because Lust is involved, doing Lust-y things. Anyway... it starts off a little slow, because it's more plot advancement and mission-esque focused, not just feels for the sake of feels- but I can only write feels. I'm still learning how to write normal things. Bleh. But I promise, the feels do come! And now... onwards, into my next venture into sadness and angst! Enjoy :)

* * *

" _Welcome back, my child."_

" _F... Father?"_

" _Correct. Now, rise. Rise, and come to me."_

" _Where... where are we?"_

" _Oh. Yes. It's not our usual home, is it...? It's a human cemetery, if you must know- but this is unimportant. How do you feel?"_

" _...I am... well. I think. I- ...Father, what is this?"_

" _Oh, that? It is nothing. A sentimental trifle, left over from your host. Feel free to discard of it however you please. But then, come with me. There is much work to be done, Lust."_

" _Yes, Father."_

 _Calmly, one of the shadows raised his left hand to the moon, extricating the ring off his finger and letting it carelessly fall to the dirt. Then, without another word, he followed behind his master out of the graveyard._

* * *

It was a cold, dreary, and miserable day. Lonely and overcast, swollen clouds that threatened rain rolling over the city, drowning everything underneath shadows and swallowed up even the weak, meager sunlight that wandered through the stormclouds.

Roy scowled at the pathetic weather, taking another sip of his lukewarm coffee, and rolled his eyes at the irony of it all.

It had been raining every day since the funeral.

And, depending on who you asked, it had also been raining the day of.

With another sigh, he firmly clicked his pen and turned back to his desk, pushing such morose thoughts of his his mind. The dreary, rainy weather should have no affect on him. It was raining because it was the wet season- not because of any funeral or black depression stalking him like a raincloud. He was an alchemist, after all. The weather had absolutely no relation to that _god damn_ funeral.

 _And, meanwhile, I've thought more about the fucking rain than anything else today._

He glared darkly at the paragraph before him, the paragraph he'd spent the last ten minutes straight trying to read and still processed none of it.

With another ferocious sigh, Roy clicked his pen again and forcefully set it to paper, scrawling his signature down while barely even reading what he was approving. He set the form aside and reached for another, massaging at the building headache in his temples.

A knock on his door stopped him.

After several more moments of glaring at the paper, he cleared his throat, scowling again. "Enter."

He was not surprised when his office door opened to reveal Hawkeye, standing there straight and firm, still demanding professionalism and duty even now, her expectations the only thing that kept him performing. He was surprised, however, to see her hands empty of any new paperwork, or even, thank god, the sandwiches she'd taken to foisting on him at lunch time. Her eyes were filled with silent warning, however, a warning he heard even before she explained it for him, with a simple, "Major Elric to see you, sir."

Ah.

A warning well warranted, then.

"...I see." Distantly, he leaned back against his chair, pen set carefully down on his desk so gloved hands could fold in his lap.

Part of him wondered why Ed hadn't just barged in, like usual.

The rest of him already knew why.

"...Let him in, then."

With nothing more than a silent nod, and a look that said _you should've known better, sir,_ Hawkeye stepped back and allowed his youngest subordinate to enter, shutting the door behind him.

Ed just stood there, right by the door, and glared at him without saying a single word.

Now, Roy was no stranger to being the recipient to Fullmetal's glares, but this one- this icy, detached stare filled with simmering, unspoken rage; it was not one he'd ever seen before. Fullmetal was a hothead. When angry, he made sure everyone within a hundred foot radius knew it. He shouted and stomped and made a fuss over everything.

He didn't think he'd ever seen Ed as still, silent, and _furious_ as he was now.

Oh, the kid definitely knew the truth now.

When the seconds ticked by, and the kid didn't say anything, just glared at him, Roy found himself throwing away his one chance to make this right without so much as a second thought. "Cat got your tongue, Fullmetal?" he snapped waspishly, waving a finger at him. "I've got to say, this is probably the most I've liked you since I met you."

It was not a very good idea, to provoke him like that. Not now. And he knew that.

But, for the same reason he'd lied to him in the first place, Roy still could not look at him now and tell him the truth.

Ed's cold glare intensified, but no rant or screaming fit came. He just stood there stiffly by the door, arms folded, then finally cleared his throat. "I'm taking some time off," he said, voice resonating with black, barely contained rage. "I've already given the leave request to Lieutenant Hawkeye. She approved it for you."

"...I see."

Things were worse than he'd thought, it seemed.

After several moments, Roy left it at that. He wasn't going to ask where he was going. By the look on his face, anywhere that was _not here_ was his goal. He wasn't going to ask why, either- because he knew that, too.

He should've apologized.

"...You have twenty-five days of unused leave time," was what he said instead. Flat and unfeeling; just like Ed's proclamation. "I expect to see you back here before the conclusion of that time."

Ed's glare didn't once waver. "Understood." He stood there silently for several moments, clearly waiting for more even as he raised his metal hand up in a stiff, formal salute. "Colonel."

And with that, he turned and left.

Roy was left to sit there and watch his retreat, far too aware to know he should stop him, far too prideful to do it. He remained at his desk, gaze on Ed's back as he retreated out to his outer office, then the hallway without once looking back. None of his other subordinates tried to stop him, either; even as little as they knew of the situation, they could see from Ed's state now was not the time to interfere.

Unsurprisingly, however, the moment Ed was gone, Hawkeye stood up again and returned to his office, without him even having to ask her to.

"He did not inform me where he was going," she told him, answering his unasked question. "He only said he needed some time to think."

"And yet, you approved the leave request anyway. ...Approved it _for me."_

Her eyes narrowed. "Given your recent behavior, I decided it would be prudent to act in your best interests, since it is most likely you wouldn't have, given the choice. Acting rashly, as you two are prone to do, would make things worse."

He wanted to scowl at her for it, but part of him knew she was right, and had probably prevented him from making things much, much worse. His pride still prevented a thank you as he leaned back in his command chair again, interlacing his fingers. "He certainly was angry. That was the most polite he's ever been to me, Lieutenant... he actually saluted me, did you see that?"

"There's a first time for everything, sir."

He could see it in her eyes she was not pleased with him.

Sighing, Roy returned his gaze down to his desk and said nothing.

He could feel Hawkeye's stare weighing on him again, his lieutenant plainly wanting to lecture him but not yet decided on the words. He kept his mouth shut, well aware that his best chances of getting her out of there was to just sit there and not react- and at the moment, all he wanted was to be left alone.

Another knock on his door ruined any such hopes, and he flinched, nearly snapping his pen in his hand. Glancing darkly up revealed Fuery making his way inside, blissfully innocent of what he was interrupting, and Hawkeye glaring at him again, as if warning him not to take his black mood out on him. He glared right back, in no mood for her silent lectures today.

"Colonel," Fuery greeted, shifting his grip on his stack of paperwork. "Straight from the Fuhrer's office. Needs your attention, ASAP."

Roy glared at the stack, briefly considering incinerating it.

"Oh!" Fuery said abruptly, as if just remembering something. "And I passed Ed just now, on his way into Bradley's office. He looked awful pleased with himself, too." Fuery smiled innocently, plainly unaware of the implications of his words. "Something going on, sir?"

Startled- if only briefly- out of his dark mood, Roy exchanged a surprised glance with Hawkeye. "...You must've been mistaken," he said at last, sitting back with a frown. "Fullmetal's taking some personal time at the moment. We're not going to see him around HQ for a little while." _And he most certainly wouldn't be looking happy, now, either,_ he added on mentally, but felt no reason to say that aloud.

Fuery looked at him oddly, as if wanting to question him, but Hawkeye cleared her throat and stopped any such plans long before they could be put into action. "While Edward's absence will certainly decrease the amount of paperwork, it by no means has reduced it to none. We all have work to do and should get back to it."

Shrugging, Fuery let it go and headed back out to his desk, leaving Roy with his brand new stack of uninteresting drivel. He frowned at it.

"And, sir?"

 _What now? For god's sake, what could she possibly want now?!_

Quieter now, so only he could hear her, Hawkeye said, "Unless you plan to transfer to Investigations, then set aside that file you were going to work on until after hours, sir. ...You're not going to find anything new today that you haven't found this past week."

Then she left him alone. She made her exit quickly- so quickly, he couldn't see the sympathy, concern, or pity growing in her eyes.

He sighed, battling to smother away the deep ache in his chest that had been growing for days now. She was right. He knew she was right. She was _always_ right. He knew that.

It still took him several seconds to, very reluctantly, shut the case file for the murder of Maes Hughes, put it very carefully aside, and attempt to turn his attention towards the new paperwork waiting for his signature.

* * *

Ed yawned magnificently, stretched his arms and legs- creaking metal joints and all- and then, promptly buried his face in the book and and resisted the urge to scream.

"Brother," Al tried mournfully next to him, tugging a little on the text to try and get it away from him. "Come on. We've been here for hours. Why don't we just go back to the dorms for now? Please?"

But he shook his head, refusing to consider the proposition- even if he also couldn't open his eyes just yet, either. "No. ...One more."

Al sighed again. "You always say that, Brother."

After several moments, Ed just shook his head, pushing himself up off the book and blinking down at the words again. They remained stubbornly fuzzily for a second until he glared them into submission, and, groaning, he pulled over his notes and started to continue.

When his head hit the pages for the second time in five minutes, Al put his foot down.

"Nope," he declared staunchly, tugging Ed back with one hand and smartly snapping the book shut with the other. "We are going home, and _you_ are going to bed. Right now."

"But..."

"No arguments!" Al very easily pulled the book out of his grip and piled it on top of the others, then poked a finger at him. "I'm going to go put these back where they came from. You, stay here, and _don't_ go get anymore. I'll be right back."

Ed found himself too tired to do anything but sway in his seat and watch as Al toted the books back to their rightful places. And while he knew Al was just as weary as he was, his brother never showed it, steps always swift and steady and hold on the high stack of books never wavering as he lugged them away.

He shook his head miserably at the sight and frowned back at the worn table, shoulders slumping with exhaustion he didn't have the time to feel and Al didn't have the body to suffer. It must've been ten hours they'd been here, working without a break.. maybe more. And they'd been here even longer yesterday. Ed didn't think he'd even seen another person since yesterday, when they'd run into Mustang and Hawkeye and heard about Hughes' retirement. Al was probably right, he realized ruefully... getting at least a couple hours sleep would be far more productive than insisting on staying here a while longer.

In a daze, he wasn't really sure how long it was until Al came back, pulling him to his feet and out of the study room. His feet wavered a bit at first but his brother steadied him, guiding him out into the hall, and Ed couldn't help but sigh, leaning on his arm for support. "Sorry, Al."

It wasn't just for being this; so tired Al had to take charge, clean up, and drag him home. It wasn't just for tonight. But Al knew that, and Ed knew he didn't have to say anymore when Al just looked at him with the closest thing to a smile he could do, and said, "We'll keep trying tomorrow."

Nodding gratefully, Ed swallowed back the regretful feeling in his throat and shut his eyes, just for a moment. He let Al lead him the rest of the way to the stairs, yawning again, suddenly unable to think about anything but bed. Ah, bed. Glorious bed. Perfect, soft, wonderful _bed-_

"Oh, Colonel Mustang! And Lieutenant Colonel Hughes! What are you doing here?"

Ed jerked away from his brother's arm and wrenched his eyes open in the same instant.

There was Mustang, a while off down the hallway but completely unmistakeable- but Hughes... if it hadn't been for Al, Ed wouldn't have recognized him at all. Out of uniform, for once, but rather than his outlandish purple or orange ridiculous civilian shirts, he was dressed entirely in black, a sleeveless shirt and pants that struck him more as something Mustang would wear than Hughes. Ed stared blankly, first at him, then the colonel, looking between them in confusion. What, did the bastard have a mission for him? At this hour? Surely it could've waited until the morning... and besides, that didn't explain what Hughes was doing here, dressed like that.

His pride was saved, at least, since Mustang wasn't smirking or laughing at him for once, apparently haven't noticed how heavily he'd just been leaning on his brother for support. Instead, the two officers just approached them, both almost curiously expressionless, and he frowned. "Hughes?" he called, then rubbed his eyes hard, the surprise helping to wake him up a little more. "Hughes, what are you doing here? I thought you'd retired to the country... and why are you dressed like that?"

But Hughes just waved the comment off, shaking his head with a quick grin. "Mustang had to say all that, before; you were in public. Sorry for all the misdirection, it's a long story- can we talk?" He jabbed a thumb towards a study room- the one, in fact, that Ed and Al had just left.

Ed glanced at Al uncertainly, still more than a little thrown by their sudden appearances. On one hand, if it had just been Mustang here, he would've told him to fuck off; the bastard may have owned him during the day, but it was the middle of the night and he was not doing this. But if Hughes was here, it had to be important... besides, Mustang hadn't insulted him yet. He supposed he could be patient.

Grunting irritably, Ed led the way back inside, though one look at the chair he'd spent the better part of a day in and he slouched against the wall instead, glancing suspiciously between the two men as they trailed in after him and shut the door. "So, what's this all about, really? And hey, Hughes, what the hell; did you actually _retire?_ I thought you liked Central!"

Hughes held up a hand to forestall the questions, though, shaking his head at him while Mustang just stood silently by the door, watching. "I didn't retire, actually. Like I said before, it's a bit of a delicate situation- I'm being sent on a mission, but it needs to be secret. The public story is that I'm retiring, but in actuality I'll be headed south."

Mustang finally stepped forward, but his dark eyes were curiously unreadable as he folded his arms into an unapproachable front. "There's been a string of murders in the south. We're thinking a rouge group of Ishvallans," he explained dispassionately. "Hughes is being dispatched to handle it. Quietly. The Ishvallans are angry enough with us as is, and the last thing we need are tensions being heightened if word got out about the military retaliating against them. You are being dispatched with him, as protection."

"Wait- protection?!" he spat out, all previous exhaustion now brushed aside in favor of irritation. "Um, I don't think so. Unless these Ishvallans happen to have something to do with the Philosopher's Stone, then I'll pass. Besides, why can't you just go with him yourself?"

Mustang's eyes narrowed darkly. "Because I'm ordering you to go. Can you not understand that? It's an _order._ You follow orders. That's all there is to it, Fullmetal."

Ed blinked, thrown by the casually dismissive response. What, no pipsqueak? No taunting or height jabs or smug remarks? He glanced between the two men again, then back at Al, frowning quietly against the wall. "...What's going on here?" he asked again. "You're not telling me something."

It was quiet for several seconds, Mustang and Hughes looking at each other and saying nothing while Ed and Al were left to wait in increasing discontent.

At last, Hughes cleared his throat, eyes shadowed and wary. "Things are happening, Ed. Some of the generals are getting interested in soul bonding... god knows why. Now, they don't know about Alphonse," he said quickly, holding up a hand to calm him down, "but Mustang thinks, and I agree, it'd be best if we got you two out of town for now. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

He finished the statement with a lighthearted laugh, but Ed had already stiffened, and beside him, Al was frozen in sudden nerves. He drew an inch closer to his brother, unable to help himself. Instantly, his mind started spinning of what would happen if anyone found out... he'd be imprisoned or executed- and Al, god, _Al._ The military would take him and- no. No. It wasn't something he could bear even thinking of. "Maybe clearing out is the best idea," he hedged reluctantly, stepping closer to Al again. "Just until this is all done with."

Al hesitated. "But... this isn't going to go away, is it? I mean, if they want to start experimenting into soul binding..."

"I think I'll be able to nip this in the bud, actually," Mustang cut in, raising a hand. "I'm the highest ranking State Alchemist at the moment, courtesy of Scar." His mouth became something of a nasty grin, something that almost sent chills down his spine and unsettled him greatly. "So, while the generals may detest me in every other fashion, my opinion on alchemy related matters still holds some weight. I'll be able to convince them soon that this is too close to human transmutation to risk- but in the meantime, you should be elsewhere. Just to be safe."

Hughes went on after him, not giving Ed a chance to comment. "Besides, this is a good excuse to get you two out of town! The Fuhrer himself wants this group in the south dealt with, and he ordered I do it myself, along with an alchemist for protection... no one will question it." He grinned easily. "It's perfect. So, Ed? What do you say?"

Ed hesitated, torn, and shared an uneasy glance with Al. This was all very sudden... and still, something about it didn't sit right with him. It made sense that he shouldn't be in Central, he supposed, but surely there was somewhere he could be in the meantime, Philosopher's Stone hunting? Why did he have to tag along with Hughes? But, on the other hand, while Mustang was a manipulative prick, Ed was well aware the bastard did try and keep them searching for the stone as much as he could. If Mustang was suggesting this as an option, then it could only be that things were about to get more dangerous in Central than he was willing to admit.

 _Or, hell, it could just be that he's worried about Hughes and wants someone he can count on there to help him out..._

After several moments, holding Al's gaze and communicating silently, Ed sighed, glancing grumpily back at Mustang. "...This wouldn't be for that long, right? I'm serious, bastard, no longer than two months. We've got stuff to do."

Mustang, however, just nodded easily, his expression unreadable again. "Don't worry, Fullmetal. Everything'll be done before you know it- I can promise you that."

Once again, Ed exchanged an uncertain glance with Al, thrown. Everything about the bastard just seemed slightly _off..._

But before he could question it, Hughes nudged Mustang back towards the door and cleared his throat. "So it's settled, then. Ed, Al- I'll meet you at the train station in two hours. You two had best go back and pack. And remember, if anyone asks, you didn't see me. I'm supposed to already be gone, after all." He waited for them to nod slowly, both still a little confused, to grace them with another grin and make his exit. "Great! Then I'll see you two soon?"

Ed hesitated, exchanging an uncertain glance with his brother. Whatever was going on, they clearly didn't know the full story... but, this was Al's safety at stake here. Mustang wouldn't trick them; not like this, at least. For Al's safety, he was content to not press the matter, and just get the hell out of Central as fast as possible.

"...Sure," he said at last, swallowing back the urge to pry and pry until he knew everything and instead, for Al's sake, just nodding instead. "We'll be there."

Then, just as the two men were making the exit, he called out again. "Hey, Mustang?"

The colonel paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at him. Once again, everything in his expression was just slightly _off..._ but now was simply not the time to question it.

"Thanks, Mustang," he grunted reluctantly.

The colonel watched him for a moment longer, then just made his silent exit again, and left the two of them alone.

Ed watched as the two men left, frowning and trying to place the sense of unease, and just a glance at Al told him his brother was doing the same. It wasn't until the sound of their footsteps outside faded away, though, that Al spoke up, standing up straight as realization hit him.

"Ed, Hughes didn't even mention anything about his daughter. I think that's the first conversation we've had with him where he didn't pull out any pictures."

Ed's eyes widened. Al was right. Hughes hadn't even once mentioned his wife or daughter... and, granted, while he wasn't complaining he wasn't still having his ear talked off about how cute whatever Elicia had done now was, it was definitely odd. "Yeah... and you know what? Now that I think about it, Mustang didn't call me short even once."

He frowned again, both of them watching the door in uncertain confusion that they couldn't answer, and silence dominated the room.

If Ed and Al had been a little bit quicker in leaving themselves, perhaps they would've caught sight of Colonel Mustang's form morphing into that of a homunculus, and laughing in a new voice that was nothing like his previous one as he said, "No, no, pipsqueak, thank _you,"_ , and they would've seen Hughes laugh as well, clapping the homunculus on the shoulder but saying nothing.

But they didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so much for reviewing! Well, apparently there's some sort of problem with the email alert system; the site has been on the fritz for months now so who even knows. Just saying, don't count on getting an email when it's updated. Should have new chapters up every Wednesday and Saturday now; if one isn't posted, check my profile to see why. Anyway... enjoy :)

* * *

When the train finally rolled in to their first stop, Ed was so eager to get off he nearly sprinted back into the station, stretching his legs and breathing in fresh air at last. "Fantastic!" he declared, hefting his small suitcase up as he stretched again, unable to help himself. "The first day in a new city's always the best. I can't wait."

Al laughed at him, clambering out of the train next. "You say that like we're going to do anything but check out their library, Brother."

"...Well!" He shrugged defensively, unable to help a small flush. "You never know what gems you might find. Central's library doesn't have _everything,_ after all."

"That's the spirit, Ed."

Blinking, Ed turned back around with Al to watch as Hughes ducked out of the train last, shielding his eyes in the bright sunlight as he looked down at them both. Hughes was still out of uniform for the sake of the mission, still wearing all black- he theorized Mustang had been the one to pick the outfit. However, like Al, he curiously had no luggage at all, only carrying the clothes on his back, the knives in his sheath, and the gun on his belt.

The investigator stepped off the platform, smiling at the both of them in greeting as he flexed his hands, as if in for a long day. "Well," he announced boldly, flexing his hands again, "as I said: time for you two to head off to the library. _I've_ got some work to do."

Al hesitated, looking after him as he made to head off. "Wait, aren't we supposed to protect you?"

Hughes actually snorted, face twisting into an overconfident sort of sneer that looked very out of place on his usually smiling features. "I'm not helpless, boys. Remember, you're here on paper as bodyguards- but the only reason Mustang sent you was to get you out of Central. I don't actually _need_ protection." He grinned at them again, patting them both- then drew back with a wave. "I'll see you two at the hotel tonight!"

Then, without another word he turned away. While Ed and Al watched, he headed off down the street, stretching his arms skyward luxuriously- then, beelined right for the nearest woman in the shortest skirt. He was too far away for them to hear what was said, but they both saw him loop an arm around her shoulders and lean in close- so close it looked remarkably like husband and wife.

But, of course, this was Hughes. Ed was pretty sure Hughes was physically incapable of even looking at a woman not named Gracia, so he glanced at Al with a shrug. "Probably some informant of his," he supplied, already uninterested, and his brother nodded in tacit agreement. "More importantly: where's the library?"

* * *

The small town's library was swiftly found, and then, just as swiftly found to be a waste of time. Ed and Al had already read all but two of the books in its small alchemy collection- and those remaining two hid no secrets on the Philosopher's Stone. One was an only mildly interesting text on manipulating ice into snow, the other, a wildly outdated and mostly incorrect work on convection patterns. Both, extremely unhelpful.

The lack of information was disappointing, but not particularly surprising. Ed was used to such unhelpful libraries whenever they visited small towns, so neither one of them had really gotten their hopes at all. He was just a little down as he headed out into the unfamiliar streets, not totally surprised to see that it had gone dark in the hours he'd spent inside.

"Well," he said, checking his pocket watch, "it's not that late. Hughes is probably still working. We could hunt him down, if you want?"

If anyone could give him a chastising, stern glare of reproach with a metal, expressionless face, it was Al. "You're eating dinner before you do anything else. You haven't had anything since breakfast! _Again!"_

"Damn it, Al, come on..." His voice edged on a petulant whine but Ed just rolled his eyes tolerantly as Al started tugging him down the street, it not him to resist. It wasn't as if Hughes really needed their help, after all- and he _was_ pretty hungry, now that he thought about it. "It's not like I do it on purpose," he muttered defensively. "I just start reading... suddenly it's past lunch. You do the same thing!"

"I know," Al laughed, still pulling him down the street. "That's why I'm not lecturing you. But you're still eating."

With a fond eye roll, Ed jogged so he was walking alongside Al rather than being dragged behind him and started glancing around the brightly lit street, searching for anything to eat that caught his eye. Unfortunately, they still seemed a little while away from the market; everywhere he looked there were bars, and he groaned in distaste. All filled with loud grown men with nothing better to do than drink themselves stupid... _say what you will about bastard Hohenheim, but at least he wasn't a drunk..._

Suddenly, a flash of black in one of the bars caught his eye and he slowed down, trying to peer in through the window. He narrowed his eyes, frowning through the dirty glass. "Hey, Al," he called distractedly, stretching to peer over the many patrons. "Isn't that..."

Ed chose to ignore the fact that Al, many heads taller than he would probably _ever_ be, had no problem looking into the bar and zeroing in and what had caught his attention. "Hey," he started, sounding surprised. "It's Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

Cursing, Ed strained again, jumping to try and find a good line of sight until at last the crowd parted a bit, letting him see. Sighing in relief, he wormed his way over and stared through to the counter.

There, definitely, was Hughes. Sitting straight up by the bar, and by the large group of women- and some _men,_ he realized with a gasp of shock- around him, he had been there for quite a while. He also, most certainly, was _not_ working.

Not unless the woman he was currently up against was one of the rogue Ishvallans, and groping her ass was the newest away for an officer to control an unruly suspect.

"U-uh..."

Ed stood there, frozen, and Al frozen next to him, both staring in utter disbelief at the spectacle. The adolescent in him was instantly disgusted and begging him to turn away, because Hughes' hand was doing things in plain view that just the thought of made him blush, and the fact that it was _Hughes'_ hand made him want to vomit- but the rest of him was frozen in shock. Hughes. _Hughes_! Lunatic Hughes- was- oh _hell-_

Al's powerful hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away just as Hughes' hand started to explore to even more intimate places, and Ed had never been so thankful for how forceful his brother could be when he was spared the sight of _that._ Unfrozen at last, they both took off down the street, caught in the unspoken agreement to just get as far _away_ from the illogical nauseating insanity as they could and as fast as possible.

Ed sprinted off, praying he'd trip over in a lake of mind bleach on his way to The Hell Away From Here. "Gah!" he spat out, weaving through the thin crowds until they were at least a block away, and only then did he let himself keel over, leaning on his knees and gasping, horrified. "What-" He scrubbed his eyes violently, resisting the passing urge to dry heave. "What the _fuck was that?!"_

"C-calm down, Brother! I'm- I'm sure it's not what it looked like!"

"What it looked like, Al?!" Ed whirled frantically on him, but his brother's voice was just as high and panicked as his own. "It looked like Hughes was- Hughes was- _agh!_ Just... _no,_ Al! I could see Mustang doing that, sick bastard- but _Hughes?!_ Just _ew! Ew ew ew!"_ It was rather like what it would feel like to see parents kiss and feel each other up, he imagined- because Hughes just had to act like a father to fucking everyone. Sure, he knew logically that it happened, and it was human nature and natural and _normal_ but oh _god_ did he not ever want to see it.

Al gestured frantically at him to calm down again- even if he looked just as scandalized as Ed imagined he did right now himself. "Okay, just slow down, slow down... like you said, it's _Hughes._ He'd never do that to Gracia! Come on, Ed, think about it; he wouldn't, he'd never-"

"But he just did! You saw what I did, Al! Ahhhh, oh, god..." He rubbed his eyes again, wishing desperately to blot the image out of his head. Even though his brother was right... Hughes wasn't Hohenheim, surely, he wouldn't just up and hurt his family like that- or if he would, Ed would turn around and go punch his lights out- but what they'd seen... "Maybe... maybe they fought, before he left on the mission? He didn't even _mention_ her or Elicia the whole train ride here! Maybe he-"

"Brother!" Al forced him to stand still, keeping him in place and soulfire eyes boring deeply into his own. "Come on, think about it. He'd never do that. You're overthinking it! Remember, he's here _working!_ There's gotta be an explanation for this!"

Ed forced out a meant to be steadying breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes again. Explanation... explanation. Yes. Of course. Everything was okay; Al was right, there had to be an explanation. After all, this was _Hughes._ If he'd run across Mustang feeling up a woman in a bar while he was supposed to be working, he'd be sickened but it- but this was Hughes! Obsessed with his wife and daughter actual nice person Hughes. It made no sense. It was illogical, ridiculous, impossible...

"Explanation..." he muttered, rubbing his face again. "I- yeah. Yeah, that makes sense... I suppose... he's working... somehow..."

Al nodded forcefully but with a little desperate whine of distress, too, and Ed could see how frantically he wanted to believe that was true. How much he, too, did _not_ want what they had just seen to be real. "Yes. That's the only way. The... the only..." He looked away nervously, hands twisting together in the anxiety that rolled off of him in waves.

At last, trying very hard to shake it all off, Ed stood back from the wall, squaring his shoulders and struggling to straighten. "It's fine. Everything's fine. We'll just talk to him in the morning about this, right? He'll tell us what was _actually_ going on. He'll have to. So there's just nothing we can do now."

With an anxious, relieved sort of sigh, Al joined him, plainly just as reluctant for the next morning as he was but even more reluctant at the idea of going back and accosting Hughes right now. "You're right," he mumbled shakily, and Ed sighed.

They finally set off on their way again, but this time, neither were moving that quickly, and when Ed started to lead the way back to their hotel rather than dinner, Al did not protest. "...Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore," he said as way of an explanation, shuddering, and by the way Al twitched on their way down the street, he knew his brother could understand.

Needless to say, Ed had his share of problems with useless deadbeat dad, and it wasn't just for Gracia and Elicia's sake that he was hoping this was all just a misunderstanding.

* * *

That night, Ed and Al waited up for Hughes' return in an uneasy silence.

It wasn't until night became morning, the loud clock in their silent hotel room ticking away past midnight, that Al convinced him to get some sleep- and it wasn't until many hours later, the sun actually starting to rise and shine drearily inside at them, that the man of the hour actually returned.

Ed had been half asleep, lulled into exhaustion by the hours of nervous inaction and the unsettling unease he'd wanted to escape. He started awake at the sound of the door, always a light sleeper, and gripped Al's arm automatically, drawing closer to him before he remembered.

Then, he scowled.

Hughes.

The investigator stood boldly in the light of the open doorway, a small, self-satisfied kind of smile sprawled across his face and looking perfectly well-rested- almost sinfully so, for someone who'd been out literally the whole night. "Oh, Edward, Alphonse!" he exclaimed cheerfully upon seeing them, flashing a bright, odd sort of grin. "You waited up for me? You shouldn't have."

Ed stiffened, exhausted temper from the night before just starting to flare up again.

"We were worried, sir," Al hastened to say, surely because he knew Ed would be far less kind if he got the chance to speak. "We, uh, thought something had gone wrong during the mission..."

Hughes, however, just smiled again, seeming entirely unconcerned. Something about it didn't seem quite right... it was a small, twisted little thing, the kind of expression he saw on Mustang all time- but Hughes wore his heart on his sleeve and was over the top about everything. It was just _off-_ but then it was gone, and he waved his hand airily as if the situation was hilarious indeed. "There's no reason for you boys to be worried about me. I'm fine. Concern yourself with your research, not me!" Stretching languorously, he walked over to sit on his own bed, settling himself back against the pillows with that odd smirk again. "I was just out late working, is all."

Ed hesitated, biting his lip. So, he _had_ been working after all...?

On one hand, he knew how stupid and naive he'd have to be to buy that excuse. Not after what he'd seen at the bar. But, on the other hand- he _wanted_ to believe it. He did genuinely like Hughes, and if what he'd seen had been real...

Swallowing, Ed pushed it just a little further, unable to help his innate suspicion no matter how much he wished it otherwise. "We saw you last night, Hughes. At that bar."

He watched very closely, prepared for the guilt or skittishness of a man who knew he'd been caught. When it didn't come, just a momentary blink of surprise that immediately slid into an easygoing grin, Ed found himself folding already in relief, all too eager to believe it. "Oh, that? Now I see why you're worried! Ha... that could be easily misconstrued." He crossed his ankles with another easy smile. "That was nothing, Ed. Don't worry. Those were a group of police officers. I can't exactly meet them in any sort of official capacity, being undercover and all... apparently most of our stops are going to be like this. It's easiest to exchange information like that, when you can make sure no one's listening that you don't want to be."

At the man's shrug, Ed paused, glancing warily at his brother. "...uh... oh. I... guess that makes sense..." He bit his lip again, shifting. Really, it _was_ logical... they were supposed to be here working, after all, and Hughes had said that's what he'd been doing- _working._ It made sense... he really did not strike him as someone who would've hurt his family like that.

Hughes beamed at them both. "There's really an explanation for everything, you two. Don't worry. If you see something odd, just ask me about it." He paused for a moment, glancing meaningfully between the both of them as if waiting for more questions. When none came, he popped cheerily up to his feet again, grinning. "I'm going downstairs to get some coffee. Ed? Want any?"

"...Ah... no, I'm fine..." he mumbled, nonplussed and tired. "...just gonna go to bed, I think..."

"Okay." Hughes shrugged again, still smiling. "Suit yourself."

Ed slumped back, just watching as the investigator headed outside of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone. Ed hesitated a moment longer, just looking at the shut door- then shut his head vigorously and threw himself down into the bed sheets. "See, Al!" he announced, rushing the words out through a yawn. "Told you there'd be an explanation. Everything's fine." He hugged his pillow tightly to his chest, burying his face into his sheets. "He was just working, like you said."

"...Yeah..." Al mumbled next to him, and Ed just chose to ignore the unconvinced edge to his voice as he curled up.

After several moments, just long enough for the long night of half sleep to get to him and leave him hovering on the edge of a doze, he heard his brother mutter again.

"Did you notice, though, Brother? ...He wasn't wearing his wedding ring."

Ed froze.

"...He said he was undercover," he managed after several moments, voice somehow kept steady. "So of course he'd have taken it off."

Then, without another word, he forced his eyes shut again, not wanting to even consider the alternative.

* * *

" _They're suspicious. They've noticed something."_

" _Would that, perhaps, be because you are unable to control yourself for so much as a single day? Or do you mean to tell me a pair of mere human children are really so perceptive, Lust."_

" _Oh, hush. I haven't had a man's body in centuries, Pride. I'd forgotten how... exhilarating, this is! I wouldn't expect you to understand, of course- but the feel of it is just-"_

" _Lust. Your role is to keep the sacrifices occupied and distracted. That is all. If are unable to perform even to that standard, I will dispatch Envy instead."_

" _And leave me free to do as I wish?! Pride, dear, why didn't you say so-"_

" _You will be once again tethered to Gluttony's side. So, if you wish to act as babysitter for that fat, disgraceful slob, then all you must do is say the word. And that, of course, is if Father does not take this failure as a sign you need to be reborn entirely. You remember what that entails, don't you, Lust? How we punish Greed?"_

" _..."_

" _I see we have reached an agreement, then. See to it that the Elrics remain ignorant- that is all, Lust. ...And remember: I will be watching."_

* * *

Roy opened his eyes, tensing for a breath, and then, he sighed.

He'd had the dream again.

He rubbed his face with a shaking hand, dragging himself in a sitting position on his couch. He shrugged the throw blanket off his shoulders and folded his legs underneath him, trying to not let himself dwell on it. But he was shaking as he reached for the book on his coffee table, abandoned in his earlier hopes to finally get some decent sleep in terms of a nap, and his fingers still felt faintly sticky with blood as he flipped back to his place.

Oh, yes, he'd had that dream again.

"They're fine," he told himself blearily aloud, voice dry and disinterested as he turned another page. "Everyone's fine. Calm down."

He took a hesitant sip of long gone cold coffee, glaring at the pages, and decided tomorrow, he'd drop by the pharmacy on his way home and refill his sleeping pills- because he was getting quite tired of starting awake every single night.

It was the seventh day since his best friend's murder. And every night since, he'd been treated to dreams of everyone he'd ever cared for shot dead in a phone booth.

He really was quite fed up with it all.

And last night's...

God, that had been the worst.

After all, it was rather easy for him to reassure himself that his unit and his friends were really all right; just a cautious, surreptitious glance around his office the next day- but he couldn't exactly do that with Ed. Not anymore.

"Since when did I give you permission to invade my dreams, Fullmetal?" he snapped aloud, irritable and annoyed- but of course, no one answered him.

Fucking brat. Dared to have the _audacity_ to barge into even his nightmares now, and of course didn't even manage to keep out of trouble there, either, managing to bleed to death while he sat away in East City, oblivious and helpless...

With a groan, Roy decided that tonight, once again, he'd be drinking himself to sleep.

He still hadn't heard any word from the damn kid. Now, a little bit of a cold shoulder, he'd expected, and known it was well deserved... but while Ed angered easily, he also forgave easily. To a point, always to a point- but the worst he'd ever had was a two day spat that had ended in Ed furiously, through gritted teeth, reluctantly explaining that the destroyed building Roy had yelled at him for had been to get to Al. Al, who had been captured, in the hands of the enemy.

Of course, he'd not really earned forgiveness, with that furious explanation... not until the next day, when Ed had somehow flooded his office- with him trapped inside. He'd not worked his way out until the standing water was almost two feet high, he remembered with a weak grin... but he'd finally escaped, and promptly chased Fullmetal down the hall with a fireball- and he'd known that Ed wasn't mad anymore.

A measly two days of upset, for that?

So, this time, he'd been so sure that after a couple days, Ed would cool down again, and come back, and he'd be able to talk to him, explain himself...

But he still hadn't shown up.

Roy smirked slightly, dragging himself to his feet and away from the warmth of his couch. Hawkeye was of the opinion, of course, that he should call the brat, and not wait for him to come to him. Seeing as this mess was _entirely_ his fault, it was only right, she'd insisted. But of course, he really had no clue where Edward and Alphonse had ended up, or how to contact them- not to mention this was a conversation that shouldn't happen over the phone at all, and, really, he should just give the kid more time, he obviously needed it, and...

Well, what it came to was that his pride just would not allow it. Not yet.

Roy uncorked a bottle of whiskey, not bothering to grab a glass as he trekked back to his couch and pressed himself back into the corner of it, shaking his head darkly. Later, he told himself. He'd wait for Ed to get over himself enough to come back, and then, he'd resolve everything _then._ Right now, he felt capable for nothing more than his couch, his whiskey, and his memories.

Another glance at the textbook waiting for him made even the meager smile caused by such thoughts to fade.

 _Human Transmutation: Reconstruction of the Soul_

Very, very bad for his reputation, that was, if anyone were to see it sitting on his coffee table. Highly illegal to attempt. There was questionably legality about even _owning_ such a thing. Very, very bad.

Of course, it was all just nothing.

He wasn't serious about it. He wasn't actually _considering_ anything. Wasn't taking any notes, or sketching out arrays, or planning. Just... wishful thinking, was what it was.

Maybe he was reading it to remind himself of what was forbidden. To stand so close to the forbidden fruit he could taste its poison but not suffer its death blow- because he hadn't been lying, to Hawkeye, when he'd promised her he was all right. He truly had no intentions to do this... but somehow, it was a little easier to assure himself of that, with the forbidden right at his fingertips rather than far away. To remember what this very grave mistake had cost Ed and Al, that even if it worked this was not what Maes would ever want, that it _wouldn't_ work. That human transmutation _did not_ work... because as much as it felt like it was the answer to all this desperate grief and sadness, it was not. It was the closest thing he had, but it was not now, nor would ever be, the answer.

He was just reading it, really. That was all.

Roy sighed, fingering the taboo book's pages again, and wished, for just a moment, to find truth there, and not bitter lies.

His phone went off, making him start out of his miserable self-loathing and look to the clock in surprise. Upon seeing the time he relaxed minutely; he'd not slept for as long as he thought. It if had been later, it would've had to be work, and he would've had no choice but to answer... but for now, he'd just let his machine get it. He was in no mood to talk. Not to anyone.

After the suitable number of rings pierced through his empty apartment, it cut briefly into silence... and then:

"Roy, it's Gracia."

He sunk deeper into his couch, teeth clenching from the weight of the guilty pit now settling in his gut.

"...I just wanted to call and see how you were doing... Elicia's asked about you a couple times. She wants to know where you are." She hesitated for a moment, her voice wavering. "...I know this isn't an easy time for either of us, and you're working, and that you're going back to East City soon so you're busy- but we haven't heard from you since the funeral, and I just- ...I know it's hard right now, Roy. But don't be a stranger, okay?"

Her voice cracked over the last word, and then, with a nervous, almost frantic air, the widow hung up.

This time, Roy only last three seconds in the painful, brutal silence of his empty apartment before he yanked himself to his feet, whiskey and book forgotten.

He had no idea where he was going, but he could not stay here.

* * *

Overall, he wasn't very surprised with where he ended up.

Given his mental state, really, there were only three options- a bar, his mother's bar, or here. Hawkeye, at least, he was sure would approve of his choice.

Not that a graveyard was a very appropriate place to be, this time of night, but he figured she could forgive him this indiscretion. Just this once.

Just this once.

It was far too soon, however, for him standing here at his best friend's grave to be anything but painful. Maybe, many months from now, this could be a cathartic sort of experience but right now it just hurt, and after several moments of just looking down at the gravestone, too dark to even read the words, he fumbled to sit down on his knees in the dirt, back slouching and as he leaned his cheek against his cold fist.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Maes," he whispered voice almost lost to the cool night air. Then decided it was a little too soon for him to be talking into thin air at his best friend's grave, and fell silent instead.

 _I don't know what I'm supposed to do._

One of his hands buried miserably in the grass and dirt, and he bowed his head, stiff and shaking in the wind.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He did know, however, that he had never felt this acutely lonely or miserable in his entire life.

And the thing was, he knew what Maes would tell him to do. Rotten bastard would chastise and lecture him, drag him to his feet, tell him to get his act together and call Edward. Then he'd smirk and laugh at him, tell him to put that book on his couch away because it wasn't healthy, and to keep heading forward with his eyes fixated only on a brighter future.

 _Well, I'm not quite ready to stop moping yet, you ass. My best friend just died. ...Think I deserve a little bit of moping time._

Nothing but the cold silence of a graveyard answered him.

After several beats of second, Roy flexed his hand in the dirt, trying to settle himself more comfortably. He hated being here, but something told him this _was_ better than burying his face in a text on human transmutation for the rest of the night, and besides, after coming all the way out here, he wasn't just going to leave in two minutes. However, as he adjusted himself in the grass, his fingers ran into something hard, freezing, and very unexpected.

Roy frowned, the weight of grief momentarily driven back by curiosity. He fumbled in the grass, grasping the little thing, and snapped with his other hand, making a tiny flame by which to see by.

His frown deepened.

In his hand, clutched between his thumb and forefinger, sparkling gold in the firelight, cold and lonely and abandoned, lay a very familiar wedding ring.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for reviewing!

* * *

Alphonse folded his arms, tilted his head up towards the moon, and let out a very long, very weary sigh.

It had now been four weeks since they had left with Hughes. And it had been a _very_ long four weeks.

At first, he and Ed had been primarily focused on research, as always, when they traveled. So, at first, everything really had been going well. And as far as Ed knew, everything still was- and Al didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.

Because his brother wasn't awake all night.

His brother hadn't seen all that he had.

Al sighed again, looking around the only sparsely populated streets, most people scattered by the very early hour. It looked like the crowds they'd seen Hughes hanging with a few times since they'd left, just drunker, and Al shuddered as he worked his way through a meandering, ridiculously loud group of men. There was still no sign of Hughes, and he kept on looking with another sigh.

In the weeks since they had left, Al wasn't entirely sure he'd seen Hughes actually _working_ even once. While the investigator still tended to vanish for most of the day, returning only at three or four in the morning- which Ed had now taken to sleeping through- Al just had a very hard time believing what he was out doing was work. He still had yet to even mention any details of the murder cases; Al wasn't even sure he had a case file for them.

He also hadn't mentioned Gracia or Elicia still.

Not even once.

Al didn't know what to make of it. The only thing he _did_ know was that it couldn't mean anything good.

The only thing stopping him from confronting Hughes was he just had no idea what the alternative could _be._ Even if he _was_ cheating on his wife- something that was hard enough for him to believe as it was- this was still an actual mission. Mustang had assigned it to them, after all, and Al really didn't think that he would just gallivant around the countryside and sleep with everything he came across when he was on a _mission,_ at the very least. He _had_ to be working, somehow... even if Al didn't see it...

And, of course, if he confronted Hughes, Ed would find out about it- and that, he _didn't_ want to happen.

Hughes was probably one of the only people his brother had actually gotten close to, since coming to the military. Al knew how hard it was for him to trust people, especially people like Hughes, after how their father had left... and he didn't want to even risk jeopardizing this- not unless absolutely necessary.

Which was why he was here now.

Ed knew he took walks at night often, which was what he had told his brother before leaving the hotel- but, in reality, he was looking for Hughes. If he could tail the man while he was supposedly 'working', and see for himself what was really going on, he'd feel much better. The idea of spying didn't sit entirely well with him, but, he reminded himself, it was for Ed's sake...

If only he could just _find him!_

Groaning, Al headed around another corner, twisting his white plume anxiously as he searched through the streets. The small, southern town, like most smaller cities, was almost completely deserted at this time, making his work easier. He peered into every still open bar that he found, but most were nearly empty, and none had Hughes.

At last, Al found the bar that Hughes, after much cajoling, had told him and Ed he would be working at that night. No patrons were still inside, but he took a chance anyway and ducked in through the door, once again thankful that, if absolutely nothing else, this body let him pass for an adult. A little kid wouldn't get the answers he was looking for- but he would.

"Sorry, sir, you just missed last call-"

"No, I'm not here for that." He carefully unfisted his hand, holding up the small picture he'd taken from his brother's wallet- the picture Ed refused to admit existed and kept carefully hidden and crushed in the billfold. He unfolded the crinkled thing carefully, searching through the picture of the solstice party he'd dragged his brother to until he found Hughes in the photo. "I'm looking for this man. Was he here tonight?"

The bartender hesitated, but when Al remained insistent he sighed and glanced down at the picture. After examining it for several seconds, he handed it back over with an uncertain frown. "He didn't look military tonight, but yeah. He was here."

Al paused as he accepted the picture back, hope rising. So, Hughes hadn't lied about where he was going to be. That was good, right? That meant he probably had been working after all, and all of this was just Al being paranoid. "Do you know where he went after he left? He never made it back home..."

"Er, yeah." The bartender watched him appraisingly for a moment, as if unsure if he should just be telling a stranger this, then sighed. "He went home with a woman. Didn't actually say where they were headed, but I know her address- I imagine you'd find him there." He quickly scrawled the address down on a napkin and handed it over to Al, who was standing there now limp and nonplussed.

He'd gone home with a woman?

 _...Calm down. It doesn't have to actually mean anything. Women can be military, too, right? Come on, if he'd gone home with Lieutenant Hawkeye, you wouldn't be worried, would you? It's fine... totally fine..._

No matter his silent assurances to himself, though, Al couldn't help the growing sense of unease as he hesitantly started to make his way towards the woman's house.

It was only a block away, but by the time he got there, he was so nervous as to what he'd find he almost didn't want to knock on the door. He dithered in front of the house, twisting the napkin in his hands and rethinking the wisdom of this idea. Maybe he should just go back to Ed... really, what were the chances that this would be anything bad? Surely it was nothing... it was _Hughes,_ after all. He was just being paranoid; had too much time at night to think and worked himself into all sorts of crazy ideas...

But no matter how logically he tried to convince himself, the discontent refused to leave.

At last, dead silent and almost shaking on the deserted street, Al steeled himself, walked forward, and raised a hand to knock.

That was when he heard it.

Very, very faint, distant and muted, so soft it was barely audible at all...

The sound of someone crying.

Al jerked away from the door like it had punched him.

He stumbled after the noise without even thinking about it, cursing his inability to approach silently but too worried now to mind. He pushed his concerns about Hughes away as he hurried away from the house, turning towards the source of the cries. It was a dark alley nearby, shrouded in shadow, and he stilled as he approached, straining to make out the source in the dim light.

He gasped.

A man was crouched no the ground, on his knees on the cobblestones and head in his hands. His back to him, shoulders heaving with barely contained sobs, clutching at his hair and shaking, he was the very picture of devastation and misery. And Al couldn't see well enough, it was too dark in the alley- but leading into the shadows was a trail of blood.

"I'm sorry... I'm s-so _sorry..._ oh god, what have I done..." A hitched, broken sort of breath interrupted the guttural pleas, one that swiftly dissolved into another apology. "Oh, god, I'm sorry..."

As Al watched, frozen and horrified, the stricken man abruptly jerked upright, still gasping and crying but now moving with purpose. A hand jerked downwards, shifting in the darkness, and then-

He was holding a gun to his head.

Al just reacted.

He clapped violently, hands slamming together and alchemy bursting around to upheave the ground, a wave of stone slapping the gun out of his hand and toppling the man over in the same instant. "Stop!" he cried desperately, _"stop!"_ as he lunged forward, reaching out a shaking hand as the figure scrabbled backwards, throwing himself out of reach and into a patch of moonlight.

Al stopped dead.

It was _Hughes._

It was Hughes, and he was covered in blood.

They just stared at each other for a heartbeat, Hughes still gasping, blood dripping off his face and wet, stricken eyes still boring into his own. Tears streamed down his bloody cheeks, features torn with desperate anguish and agony, the man frozen on the ground-

Then the horrified stillness shattered, and he was gone.

" _Hughes!"_ Al shouted, sprinting after him, but for a distraught, probably injured man he moved unbelievably quick, out of his reach before he'd even made it into the alley. "Hughes, wait, it's just me- ...Hughes?"

But no one was there.

Al just stood there, staring disbelievingly down the blood-spattered street where Hughes had disappeared. There was no sign of anyone at all- aside from a bloody footprint, no sign that anyone had been there at all...

Because Hughes had taken his gun with him.

After several shocked, horrified seconds, Al turned his back and ran.

It was time to tell Ed.

* * *

"We have to call him."

"But Brother! We don't know-"

" _Al!"_

"But it could all just be a mistake!"

"Al! How! _How,_ in _any_ way, could this just be a _mistake?!"_

"I..."

Groaning deeply, Ed started to pace throughout their hotel room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sucking in a shaky breath. "Do we need to go over this again? Let's go over this again: he's been acting weird this whole time. Last night you found him covered in blood. He ran away from you. He _took_ his _gun._ And now he's been missing for over eight hours and we can't find any sign of him _anywhere?!_ We've got to tell someone, Al!"

Ed stared in disbelief as his brother just slouched miserably, hands twisting anxiously around the bedsheets as he struggled to explain. "I know... I know it sounds bad- okay, really bad. But all I'm saying is that we should wait a little bit longer before calling Mustang."

"You were the one who thought something was wrong with him! Now we _know_ there is, and suddenly you're throwing in the towel?!"

"Brother..." With a moan, Al leaned forward rubbed a hand over his face, clearly exhausted and stricken by what he'd witnessed. "You didn't see what I did, okay? I know that I thought something was wrong with him, but... not like _this._ He looked terrified. ...I think if I hadn't been there, he- he would've shot himself."

Ed found himself slowing at the subdued, frantic sort of fear in his brother's voice. "...Yeah," he managed after a moment, struggling to sound in control. "Which is what I'm saying. We should call Mustang. They're friends, aren't they? He'll know what to do. Or at least call the police! Need I remind you he was covered in _blood?!"_

"Brother, please..."

With another groan, Ed tossed himself miserably down onto the opposite bed, hugging himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he could understand where Al was coming from. He'd been able to tell something was a little off these past couple weeks, too, but _this_ was all completely out of nowhere. A very large part of him still hoped they'd be able to track Hughes down, _somehow,_ and Hughes would smile that goofy grin of his and have the perfect explanation for everything and it would all be okay...

But after what Al had seen, he had trouble believing that was even possible.

But, on the other hand- what the hell were they supposed to tell Mustang, if they called him? _Hey, uh, sorry to bother you Colonel, know we're about a hundred miles away, but we've got no idea where Hughes is and he, uh, may have kinda completely lost it?_ God, no.

"...We'll give it one more hour," he conceded unhappily. "One. Then we call Mustang, and the police. Okay?"

"...Okay, Broth-"

"One hour for what?"

Ed jumped so severely he nearly toppled to the floor.

Hughes was in the doorway to their hotel room.

The sight was so incongruous Ed gaped at it, and Al with him. They both stared blankly, struck dumb- and Hughes, perfectly fine, non-bloodstained, totally nonchalant, smiling Hughes, just raised a hand in greeting, as easygoing as he'd ever been in his life.

"You two are up early!" he continued on, smiling brightly in the face of their shock. He walked further into the room and, with both beds currently taken by two stunned teens, leaned up against the wall instead, grinning down at them. "Something wrong?"

Ed and Al just stared, shocked beyond words.

When neither reacted, Hughes' smile faded a little, the investigator tilting his head to the side as he looked down at them in concern. "Hey, you two look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen...?"

After several shocked, disbelieving moments, Ed turned slowly to stare at his brother.

Al twitched, gaping at him then Hughes, looking stricken. "What the- no! No, I _saw_ you!"

"...Saw me what?" he pried quizzically.

Al jumped to his feet, still staring at the investigator in shock. "You were hurt! You were covered in blood- you ran off- you've been gone for _hours;_ we looked for you everywhere-! How can you just show up now like- I don't- Hughes, what _happened?!"_

"...Erm..." His smile faded further, genuine concern lighting up his eyes. "...what exactly are you talking about, Al?"

Ed blinked, looking between the two uncertainly. Hughes looked entirely innocent and confused- _too_ innocent and confused for anyone who could possibly be guilty. But after what his brother had seen...

"I _saw you!"_ Al pressed frantically again. "And you saw me! Last night! Don't you remember?! You were there- and- and you-..."

After a moment of uncertainty, Hughes spoke up again, eyes guarded. "Alphonse, if all this happened last night, maybe it was dark, and you're just not sure of what you saw? Because I really have no idea what you're talking about. I was working all night long with Lieutenant Schmidt."

"Schmidt!" Al pounced on that instantly even as Ed jerked up in recognition, his eyes widening. "That's the woman he went home with last night! I found him outside her house, Brother! The blood trail came from _her house!"_

Ed nodded vehemently, twisting back around to fix Hughes with a determined stare. He'd seen it, after all. Al had taken him there- shown him the horrifying scene before they'd started trying to hunt Hughes down. The investigator hadn't been there, and it had still been too dark to make out detail- but the footprints written in black, shadowed trails of blood leading from the door had been right there, clear as day. And when they'd knocked, they'd received no answer.

As little sense as all of this was making, all of that _had_ happened- and if Hughes didn't have an explanation for it, they were going to have to call Mustang.

And Hughes, after a beat of soft confusion, just glanced between them with another friendly smile and, bewilderingly, he _laughed._ "Oh. Blood trail? That wasn't blood- I told you two that it wast just dark and you were seeing things! Lieutenant Schmidt's car was leaking oil and I helped her fix it- unfortunately got it all over my boots in the process." He shuddered with another good natured smile. "Al must've seen me trying to clean off outside."

Al stiffened in disbelief while Ed just stared, stricken. _"What?!_ But- that's impossible! You were a mess, Hughes! I saw you; something was really, really wrong... I mean... I thought I saw you..." His voice dropped off uncertainly, the reality of Hughes just standing right there, totally fine, clearly getting to him as he sat back down, abruptly hesitant. "I- suppose it could've been oil... but I still saw you there, Hughes, and something was _wrong_ with you, you were-"

"Al, you've been working really hard with research for weeks now. I know it's harder for you to relax, but I think you should take a couple days off," Hughes interjected worriedly. "I really don't know what you think you saw, but I'm fine. I was working with Lieutenant- ah, Lieutenant Schmidt! Can you come in here for a second please?"

Ed blinked, his eyes widening. She was _here?_ And uninjured? But then...

Sure enough, a young woman stepped in from out in the hall, previously unseen. She wore a military uniform and, to his disbelief, perfectly matched the woman that Hughes had gone home with. After everything that had happened, they'd tracked down a picture of her, to make it easier to look for her as well- but here she was, alive and well... not even injured in the slightest.

"Lieutenant Colonel?" she asked calmly, raising a hand in salute. "Something wrong?"

Hughes shook his head, turning back to Al, who was busy staring at the woman like he'd seen a ghost. "See, Al? I'm not sure what you saw, but the lieutenant's fine. You probably couldn't find us because we ended up at the police station, looking through case files." He shrugged easily, waving for Schmidt to lower her salute. "See? Do you feel better now, Al?"

"I..." Al trailed off into a confused, uncertain silence as he looked between the two soldiers, clearly unsure of what he was supposed to think. Ed, for one, could greatly sympathize. After everything that had been going on, they had every right to be suspicious... but here this woman was, right here, showing them that everything they'd been afraid of just wasn't true. Ed still felt off, like something _had_ to be wrong... but he was honestly at a loss for what it could be. The woman was clearly fine.

Besides... this was Hughes... and Hughes had no reason to lie to them... right?

"I... guess it was just... dark," Al mumbled at last, sitting limply back down on the bed. "...I'm sorry..."

The investigator offered up another disarming smile. "Don't worry about it! We all make mistakes, don't we?" He waved off the apology and stood back from the wall, shrugging off his jacket to the bed and setting his bag down beside it. "Well, now that that's been taken care of- Lieutenant Schmidt and I are going to go downstairs to use the phone. We found some evidence last night Colonel Mustang needs to hear about. Start packing- our train leaves in an hour."

And with that, Ed and Al found themselves watching, nonplussed, as the investigator and lieutenant left the room.

Still so easygoing and nonchalant it was unbelievable.

After several shocked, silent moments, Al turned to look at him guiltily, clearly hesitant and thrown. "...I... I want to say that I saw what I saw- but... there's no way I could have. I mean- they both seemed fine... but I..."

Shaking his head, Ed held up a hand for silence, even as he crawled over towards the discarded bag. " _Something_ is definitely going on. I don't care what Hughes said; I believe you and _something_ is wrong here."

"Wait, Brother? Are you going through his stuff? I don't know about that..."

Ed shrugged as he dug through the files and papers, still inordinately focused on his task. "It's fine. If he's not hiding anything, then I won't find anything. If he is, well, then this is how we'll find it."

"But that's not the point!"

"Al-" He broke off, eyes widening as, at the very bottom of the bag, his hand ran into something hard and metal. Frowning, he grasped it and pulled it out, then started at the sight of Hughes' gun. "Hey, what's this doing here?"

"Brother, put that back! It's not yours-"

Ed waved the weapon carefully, sitting back from the bag with a frown. "You said you saw him try to use this last night, yeah? So, let's just check and see if it was fired recently..."

" _Brother!"_

Heedlessly, Ed continued to investigate, too focused on his search to mind. His unpracticed hands moved over the gun, looking for any evidence of whatever the hell it was that had happened last night.

Then, they both froze.

The gun didn't have any bullets in it.

* * *

" _You are a walking disaster!"_

" _Envy, listen-"_

" _No. No, YOU listen. My shapeshifting doesn't exist to make things easier for you! It is not a convenient mop for your messes, Lust! Do you understand that? You could've ruined everything if I hadn't gotten there in time! If I hadn't been there to save your ass, what would you have done, Lust? What would you have done?!"_

" _I didn't have a choice! I had to kill her, she saw my tattoo! And then that scum human- he dared to intervene-"_

" _And you let him. You let him take back control. You let him take back control- and the Elrics saw you. Lust... you HAVE to keep them in the dark! If you mess this up, do you have any idea what Father will do to you?!"_

" _Wait! Envy, don't tell him!"_

" _You need to get yourself, and your host, under control. Now. Keep indulging in your sin if you must... it makes us stronger. It'll help you hold your host back. But if you let that human get the better of you again, and I have to come back to save you, that's it. Father'll pull you back by your leash if he doesn't kill you outright. So figure out something. NOW."_

" _...You don't have to worry, Envy. Maes Hughes isn't going to be a problem anymore."_

* * *

With a long, aggravated sigh, Roy rubbed his pulsing temples with one hand, and spun the wedding ring on his desk like a quarter with the other. It twisted around his wooden desk, twirling under his fingers, and he watched the spun gold blur until the momentum was finally lost, and it stumbled to a halt on its side.

He frowned at it.

Four weeks, since discovering it abandoned in the dirt over his best friend's grave... and four weeks, since he'd decided he had no idea what to do with it.

He was relatively sure it was Maes'. Men's wedding bands were all alike to some degree, but it did _look_ like his friend's. Some investigation had told him, very unsurprisingly, Maes had been wearing it when he'd died.

He'd assumed it had been buried with him... but, given that that was clearly not the case, left him with a series of unanswerable questions.

Had Gracia intended to leave it behind? Because it could have only been in her possession, if it had not been buried with Maes. Had she left it in the grass afterwards in some sort of sentimental gesture, wanting to bury it with him but not truly ready to part with it forever? Had she been carrying it with her, but dropped it unintentionally the day of the funeral, or some day after? Unlikely, he thought- but if that was the case, he clearly needed to return it. She'd be missing it dearly and deserved to have it returned.

But, there really was no easy way to ask a grieving widow _I'm sorry, did you lose this, or did you bury it on purpose and I just fucked it up by carelessly unearthing and robbing it?_

Especially since he hadn't so much as spoken to Gracia since the funeral.

It was irresponsible of him, yes... and Maes would be extremely upset... and it was inexcusable, and cruel, and wrong...

 _But I just can't._

After several moments of just looking at the ring, he swallowed the lump in his throat, smothering it into a professional stare, and tucked the band quietly back into his shirt pocket.

Later. He'd deal with it later.

As if on cue, there was a knock on his door, promptly followed by Hawkeye entering, a folder in her arms and her eyes stern with an unreadable message. "Colonel Mustang, we have a problem."

He scowled deeply. "If it's the same problem as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, Lieutenant, my answer has not changed."

"...Sir, you can't keep avoiding this."

Roy just barely stopped the petulant _and what's stopping me?_ from issuing through gritted teeth, and the little smirk that would've come after that. He wasn't suicidal, after all.

However, Hawkeye was quite right. He could not just keep avoiding this.

It had been twenty-eight days since Fullmetal had turned in his leave request.

Or, in other words, he was now three days late for duty.

There'd still not been so much as one phone call.

Roy sighed, swiveling around in his desk chair to frown out the window instead, watching the clouds roll lazily across the sky as he folded his arms and tried very hard not to stress.

Now, in reality, his options were very simple. If he wanted to be a cruel, overbearing superior, such as one set by Basque Grand's example, he could file the paperwork that Edward was MIA. Given that they weren't in the middle of a war, and Ed was not lost somewhere on the battlefront, however, that really meant only one thing- desertion. He'd be tracked down, yes. And then, unless the reason for his absence was that he'd been kidnapped or landed himself in a hospital somewhere, his subordinate would find himself up for a court martial. And not even his young age, any favors Roy could try to pull, or his status in the eyes of the people would be able to save him from prison.

Handling this internally, which was currently the option winning out thus far, really wasn't that much better of an option, either. _Three_ _days_ was just too long of an absence to ignore, even for Ed- throwing a hissy fit temper tantrum over being lied to was, in the military's eyes, not a valid excuse to skip work, and Ed had decided he wanted to be treated like an adult the day he took the State Alchemy exam. That meant accepting responsibility for his actions, not just getting free reign with a pocket watch. Disciplinary measures would have to be taken. If Ed was older, an adult, and the circumstances were different, Roy probably would've left him down in the stockades for a week and forgotten the key, or at the very least, ordered house arrest- but he doubted he'd have the heart to pull that punishment off this time. Not when he shared so much of the blame for this.

But, damn it, Fullmetal just could not continue to flout authority and regulation so freely. He had signed up for the military, and he had to act like it. Skulking and sulking, licking his wounds, and whining in private were childish and immature and if Ed wanted to be in the military, he couldn't do that. Roy just could not keep covering for him.

He still had a couple days before he was mandated to report this, granted... if Ed managed to return before then, they'd be able to avoid anything official. But his time was running out.

All of this talk about punishing the brat would be so much easier to bear if he hadn't felt any blame for it.

Hawkeye cleared her throat from behind him, drawing his attention back to her. "Actually, sir, the situation has changed."

He frowned, still unable to tempt himself into turning back around to face her. "Have you heard from Fullmetal?" he asked hopefully. If the kid was calling her instead of him... damn, how angry _was_ he?

Hawkeye, however, made a sound in the negative. "No, sir. It's this, actually." There was the sound of a thin file smacking the wood of his desk, and, groaning, he pushed himself back around to face her and lifted the file.

His stomach dropped.

It was a mission.

One intended for the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"He went back onto the active duty roster three days ago," Hawkeye told him quietly. "Automatically, at the conclusion of his leave time. As far as the brass knows, he's returned."

Roy kept his silence, frowning down at the folder motionlessly but suddenly cursing military efficiency and bureaucracy.

"Sir, you'll have to report this now."

He stiffened, even as he jerked open the file and started reading for himself. "That puts it out of my hands. Then he'll be arrested when he finally turns up."

"... _If_ he turns up."

"Of course he'll turn up," he snapped irritably. "He's sulking right now, but he'll get over it soon. He'll drag himself in here in a few days. The way he's acting is unacceptable, and I'll see to it that he gets that, but there's no need to have him arrested over it."

Hawkeye paused, but he could feel her stern gaze resting on him insistently. "Have you even made any attempt to contact him, Colonel?"

"...He clearly doesn't want to speak to me-"

"With all due respect, sir, Edward is not a child. Whether he wants to speak to you is irrelevant; he needs to report. ...Additionally, you should've called him before now, sir. And not just to ascertain when he's returning."

 _You should've talked to him,_ was really what she was telling him, judgement and reproach heavy in every single unsaid, scathing word.

Scowling deeply, Roy kept his gaze down on the file and said nothing.

It was a simple mission. A small construction project a little ways out of East City, the rebuilding of some military buildings that had been smashed to bits by rebels. Fullmetal had likely been asked for by someone who really didn't know much about alchemy, drawn in by his renown and expertise when really, almost any alchemist could've done the job. Roy himself could tackle it...

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he announced, flipping the file shut as he strode to his feet. "I don't feel very well, I think. I'll be taking the rest of the day off, and tomorrow as well."

"...I'll file the appropriate paperwork, sir."

He knew she knew. But she still said nothing as he headed for his office door, letting him leave unchallenged, and silently, he thanked her for it.

The mission folder was in his hands.

* * *

Two days later, he returned without so much as a word of explanation, and handed the mission folder back to Hawkeye.

Inside was a mission report, complete with Edward Elric's signature.

As usual, she did not call him out on it.

But, during lunch break, hours past, just long enough that he thought he'd gotten away scott free, she frowned at him, and said out of the blue, "Colonel Mustang, if you want to continue to call Edward immature with any sort of moral high ground, then you, perhaps, should stop enabling and avoiding him. ...And everyone else, sir."

Then, she'd calmly returned to her own stack of paperwork, and Roy, frowning, had just glared down at his desk.

 _...I will,_ he promised himself lamely. _I will. I'll track down Edward, and I'll talk to Gracia. I will._

He just needed more time to find a route past his grief that let him do it.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you all so much for reviewing! Really, things aren't going so great right now for me, semester-wise, and even writing's become not easy when I just want to crawl into bed and ignore stuff for a while, so fanfiction's really I got to make me smile nowadays... for a while, actually... so thanks for keeping me motivated, guys :)

* * *

Ed leaned back in his chair, scrubbed a tired hand over his face, and spent a moment wondering whether or not the thick textbook would make a more comfortable pillow than the wooden table.

He'd never be jealous of his brother's inability to feel exhaustion- not _ever-_ but he _was_ getting a little fed up with being so consistently, constantly tired.

"...Maybe we should take a break..." Al mumbled, but the distant reprimand lacked fire, and Ed didn't bother to even sit up. Al knew just as well as he did that they had no intentions of leaving just yet. There was no point in pretending.

After all, finishing up their research meant they'd have to turn their attentions towards their shared, pain in the ass of a problem, and neither were particularly eager to do that.

Hughes was still frustratingly, stubbornly, _impossibly_ inscrutable, and driving them insane because of it.

It had been three weeks, since the incident with Lieutenant Schmidt. And despite their continuing efforts to investigate, things had only gotten worse since then. Before, Hughes had normally made himself scarce, keeping away for most of the day and only showing his face in their hotel room late at night- now, he'd part ways at the train station, and reappear only the morning they were set to leave. Just _what_ he was so busy doing, or where the hell he slept in the meantime, Ed wasn't sure... but the fact that he was somehow so removed was only worrying them even more.

It was almost to the point that he wanted to call Mustang. _Almost..._ but the only thing stopping him now was the fact that he still had no idea what to say to him. They didn't know anything that was going on, even though Ed was, by now, wholeheartedly convinced that _something_ was. But what the hell could they tell Mustang? _Sorry, bastard, Hughes is acting weird? Oh, you want details? Um... he's working long hours?  
_

Mustang would laugh them off the phone.

With a long sigh, Ed cracked his neck and leaned forward, preparing to bury himself back in the book.

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Ed found himself scowling deeply, fighting the urge to just utterly ignore responsibility for a moment before he dragged his gaze upwards to face the intruder. "Yeah?"

The man was a soldier, a captain by his uniform, and Ed found himself frowning by instinct alone as they were approached and examined, though no explanation was given. He glanced uncertainly at Al and was just about to intervene when the man spoke up.

"You two just got into town this morning, right?"

Ed hesitated, glancing at his brother again. "...Yeah... um, who are you, exactly?"

"There were three of you," the soldier pressed, not even bothering to answer his question. "Weren't there? An older man, dark hair, glasses? Where is he?" He looked around the study room they had claimed as if expecting Hughes to materialize out of thin air, frown only intensifying when he did not.

Ed paused. On one hand, this guy was military- they could almost certainly trust him. But he was a little unsettled by this sudden appearance, to say the least, and somehow didn't feel okay with just up and divulging information to a complete stranger. "Why were you watching us?" he demanded instead, shifting an inch closer to his brother.

The soldier started, blinking. "Watching you? What? I- look, it doesn't matter. I need to find the man you were traveling with, kid-" He broke off, turning towards Al instead. "Sir, can you tell me where he is?"

"Wait, what?! Why is he sir but I'm _kid?!_ I'm not a kid! _Who are you calling-"_

" _Brother,"_ Al interjected mournfully, keeping him in his seat only with a very strong, restraining hand on his shoulder even as he rushed to keep talking, clearly hoping to move the conversation on. "Sir, we don't know exactly where is right now- out working, somewhere. Maybe we can help, though? ...Why are you looking for him?"

After a hesitant beat of silence, the soldier folded his arms, still looking at Al rather than him, but was quite clearly uncomfortable and definitely knew more than he was letting on. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But it really is imperative I speak with him as soon as possible, sir. Can you at least tell me his name, or any idea where I might find him?"

Again, Ed and Al paused, both uncertain now. Ed bit his lip. As odd as everything had been lately, Hughes _was_ still undercover and he was pretty sure spelling out as such to random low-ranking soldier here was not a good idea- at least, he definitely wasn't about to do it without more information. "...If you can't tell us why you want to talk to him, then we really can't help you," he said at last, sitting back to now dig around in his pants pocket.

The soldier barely even glanced down at him, eyes narrowed in irritation now. "Look, kid-"

"I'm _not_ a kid!" Patience snapped as he slammed his pocket watch down on the table and jerked to his feet, eyes flashing. "I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist. You know- same military as you? Same team here? So why don't we try this again. Who are you, and what do you want with our friend?"

The soldier started dumbly, staring at the silver pocket watch like it had slapped him across the face, then at him in disbelief. Ed glared right back at him until he finally realized this wasn't some kind of ridiculous prank and drew back with a shocked stammer, a nervous salute tacked on as he tried to talk his way out of trouble. "C-Captain Ran, sir- I'm sorry, I didn't realize you-"

"Shut up," Ed groaned, waving away the apology, "I'm not interested in court martialing you or whatever- just what do you want with Hughes?"

The captain hesitated for a moment longer, still seeming unsure of how much to tell him, but the knowledge that he was a State Alchemist had definitely tipped the scales in his favor. "It's actually not me, I'm just the messenger," he said at last, lowering his hand. "Officers in a couple of other cities want to talk to him. ...He's being investigated for murder, sir."

Ed stiffened, swiveling around to stare at Al in alarm. He kept quiet just barely, reminding himself Hughes was undercover, so he couldn't exactly come right out and say that _Hughes_ was investigating murders, not the other way around... but this didn't make any sense. Hughes may have been acting strangely lately, but murder? _I don't think so._ "Well, he... didn't do it," he managed, so eloquently. "I mean... he's been traveling with us. We can vouch for him, isn't that enough?"

"...Sir..." Ran trailed off uncertainly, not looking too pleased with the idea. "...Is this some kind of military operation?" he said at last.

After a few hesitant moments, Ed just shook his head. "Not... exactly." It would've helped if he hadn't known next to nothing about what Hughes was investigating, but as it was he had no idea how best to lie, nor what the consequences would be if he messed things up. Shaking his head irritably, Ed scrawled down a phone number on a spare sheet of paper and handed it over, deciding his best course of action was just to push this off onto somebody else. "Call Colonel Mustang, in East City. He'll tell you what you need to know. This is all his business." _As usual, I'm just along for the ride with his bullshit._

The captain accepted the number, giving it an uneasy glance before pocketing it. "Colonel Mustang?" he repeated warily. "Got it." He paused again, gaze lingering on the pocket watch still on the table as he took a small step back, quite clearly uncomfortable but backed into a corner, with no other way out. "Sir, I know I can't order you to stay in town, but until we get this straightened out, could you please not leave? This is serious, and I'd just like it if we knew where to find you- just in case."

"No promises," Ed grunted back at him. It wasn't as if he was calling the shots here, after all... though he didn't have to admit that aloud. "Just call Mustang. He'll straighten everything out."

With a reluctant sigh, the captain gave him another unwanted salute, then retreated- but the aura of tension he'd brought in did not retreat with him, and after several wary moments, Ed just slumped back in his seat and stared at his brother, at a loss. "Al... what the hell is going on?"

Al just shook his head, clearly just as lost as him.

* * *

Tracking down Hughes, as usual, proved impossible. They trekked throughout the whole town but all they got to show for it was frustrated irritation- wherever it was the investigator was hiding out not in plain sight. They looked everywhere that they could, but in the end, it wasn't until they gave up and returned back to their hotel room that Hughes, of course, made his appearance.

"Good evening, you two," the investigator said without looking up, busy cleaning his gun- his empty gun, not that he was aware Ed and Al knew that. They still hadn't decided how to best confront him on it. "Out late researching?"

"No, out looking for _you,"_ he grouched irritably. "Hughes, someone from the military tracked us down today. Asking questions about you."

The investigator stiffened.

"...And... what did you tell him, then?" he asked after a beat of quiet, the lighthearted air that had permeated his speech before all but completely gone.

Ed exchanged another uneasy glance with Al.

"...Told him to call Mustang. Since Mustang actually knows shit, and, apparently, we really don't." He glared at Hughes, who was still leaning over his gun, suddenly tense and utterly unreadable. "What the hell is going on?! You've been acting weird this whole time and now the military comes asking after you- and we've got _no idea_ what were supposed to say- Hughes, you have to explain this! Enough of this hiding stuff! You _need_ to tell us what's going on!"

For a moment, Hughes didn't react at all, just leaning over his gun, expression still implacable and inscrutable. Then, very stiffly, he raised his head to look at them both, gaze empty, so carefully empty he couldn't read it at all, but Ed held still, mentally preparing himself for shouting, or anger, or an argument at the very least-

But then, the man just smiled, and looked back down to his gun. "It's complicated," he said, most vaguely, "and I'll explain - but actually, at the moment, you need to start packing. We're headed on to the next city."

"What?! We've only been here in a day!" Ed jerked away, closer to Al. "And let me guess, this has nothing to do with the fact the military's looking for you?!"

Hughes smirked a little, nonchalant and unbothered. "Of course not, Ed. It's just it was a false lead, that led me here- the Ishvallans were after trying to throw me off their tracks. I think they finally realized that I'm on to them." He shrugged as he stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'd like to get back on track, before we waste any more time here."

The easy answer gave Ed pause, and he frowned, glancing at Al again. It really didn't sound like he was being lied to- and this was still Hughes. Not just any other soldier, not someone he barely knew, not even Mustang, who- though he trusted him- was manipulative and Ed knew would lie if he had to. It was Hughes. He trusted Hughes.

"Come on," Hughes said to him, smiling again. "I'll explain everything when we get to the next city, promise. But the next train leaves in half an hour, and if we miss it we'll have to wait until tomorrow."

It was still an easygoing smile on his face, the look of a man who had, Ed could admit, worked very hard to earn his and Al's trust, and never done anything to break it.

"Okay," he gave in reluctantly. "...Okay."

And he forced himself to turn his back to grab his suitcase.

His back turned, he didn't see that goofy, innocent smile that he trusted morph into a black, sinister smirk that he did not.

* * *

" _It's bad. They'll know soon."_

" _...How much time do you need, Lust?"_

" _Whatever you can give me. We're about to catch a train, to the next city... all I need to do is separate the Elrics. I can take them on then. Don't worry- our sacrifices won't be getting away from us, Envy."_

" _If they do, you'll have Father to answer to, Lust. I won't lie for you any longer."_

" _...I have to go. Delay Mustang, Envy. That's all I ask: delay him for me."_

" _It will be my pleasure."_

* * *

Roy glowered so intensely at the phone that it was probably a miracle it did not spontaneously combust.

"Well," he snarled, once he'd managed to regain some semblance of composure, "check again." Then he slammed the phone down back to its receiver, violently scratched off the number on his list, and proceeded to dial the next number.

From his outer office, Havoc poked his head in, looking a little wary and most definitely cautious. "Sir," he called, fingers twitching anxiously. "I finished with the stations up north. No one's heard anything."

He grimaced, resisting the urge to try and rub his growing headache away. Disappointing, but to be expected. "Then here." He ripped off the bottom half of his list of phone numbers and handed it over, still scowling severely at his phone. "He's probably not in any other regions, anyway. Start making calls, Lieutenant."

"Sir." He saluted and left, trudging back to his desk to sit, half-hidden behind the stack of the day's paperwork going all but ignored, and Roy sighed, briefly setting his pen down to frown out at his busy subordinates.

Edward Elric had been gone for forty-five days, and unofficially missing for twenty.

 _This_ had all started several days previous, with just a meant to be casual phone call to the Rockbells, spurred on a little by Hawkeye's constant frowns and silent judgement, but mostly by the anxious pit growing deep in his gut with each passing day.

Missing for a few days was unacceptable, but also totally believable, considering this was _Ed._ And he'd kept telling himself that, even when a few had become five, then ten, and then more... and still, nothing. But finally, even he had had to realize Ed had been late by more than just a few days, and no matter how pissed off the kid was at him, this was something far more than just an argument.

Something was wrong.

Hence, the phone calls.

When Roy had found out the Rockbells hadn't heard or seen any sign of Ed in _months,_ he'd turned his attentions towards other regions of the country. First it had been quiet, discreet calls to old friends of his, pretending just to be checking up on them but then tacking on little queries about Fullmetal at the end. At first, the venture had been fruitless, and ended only with a headache...

But then, he'd finally called up a major stationed in the south.

That had opened up the floodgates.

Every couple minutes, it seemed, they got a new location to add to the map now strangling Hawkeye's desk, the southern region already a mass of red tacks as they tracked Fullmetal. The kid appeared to be doing his best not to leave a trail, but even if he hadn't been well known as the Hero of the People, there was something about a little kid half made of automail and a six foot tall suit of armor that people just seemed to remember. He'd been able to get soldiers who remembered the pair visiting their cities as long as two months ago- the last time he'd seen Ed.

So far, it looked like they'd stayed nowhere more than a week. Many places, no more than a night. And just what the hell the kid was _doing,_ Roy didn't have a clue. He'd veered close to the southern border several times but never actually crossed it. There was seemingly no pattern in his random stops and starts, no rhyme or reason to spending a full week in a dirt hovel that called itself a town then only a day in the city. None of the soldiers he'd called appeared to have actually _spoken_ to Ed, and by the way they'd talked, Ed wasn't roaming around the countryside working up trouble, for once- just quietly moving place to place. Not even hunting a Philosopher's Stone... no. Just roaming aimlessly around the south.

If Roy didn't know better, he'd say the kid was trying very hard to make it impossible for anyone to track him.

 _Something has to be wrong._

His phone ringed startled him out of his short, definitely unintentional break, and, shaking himself, Roy leaned forward to pick it up and answer. "Colonel Mustang speaking."

" _Oh, Colonel Mustang, good. This is Captain Ran, stationed in Eryth. ...It's a little west of South City,"_ the soldier said, as if anticipating his next question. _"Sir, I have a few questions to you, regarding the Fullmetal Alchemist?"_

Roy stiffened, straightening up in his chair. Damn... it seemed word was spreading, about his sudden interest in the south and his wayward subordinate. Although, it was strange that a low-ranking captain was calling him... if he was about to be rebuked for just why on earth he was harassing half of the south after Ed's status, when Ed had supposedly returned well over three weeks ago, he would've expected a general. "Guys!" he called, raising a hand for attention and covering the mouthpiece with his ever. "I may have something!" Then, ignoring their startled stares, he reached for a pen to take notes with and put the call on speaker. "Proceed."

" _I made contact with him earlier today, concerning your operation. Sir, the man he's traveling with- we have serious evidence to believe he's guilty of a series of murders. Fullmetal seemed quite convinced this all just has something to do with your operation but refused to tell me more- asked that I speak with you instead."_

Startled, Roy looked up from his notes, staring out at his team. Everyone looked, clearly, just as confused as he was. After several uncertain moments, he glanced back down to the phone, pen stilling. "...Operation?"

" _Yes, sir. If it's classified and you need to speak to someone higher rank, that's fine, but someone out here needs to be read in or we are going to have to arrest this man on murder chargers."_

Roy may not have had any idea what the man was talking about- but he did know that it did not, in any way at all, sound good.

"Captain, I'm not sure who told you otherwise, but I have no active operations in the south. Additionally, the Fullmetal Alchemist is not on any mission right now."

" _...That's not what he told me, sir."_

Another tense glance around the room, and he clicked his pen again, setting it firmly to paper and trying, very hard, to ignore the anticipation growing anxiously in his gut. This was just Ed being Ed. He'd gotten involved in something ridiculous and now, of course, that everything was set to become a paperwork and budgeting nightmare, Roy and his unit were being called in to fix it. That was all this was. "What exactly did he tell you?"

There was an uncertain beat of silence on the other line, and then, at last, his explanation came.

" _I approached him this afternoon, and found him in the company of a man in a suit of armor. I asked him about his third companion, the suspect in these murders. Fullmetal refused to tell us anything, but heavily implied this was all some sort of military operation and gave me this number to call, saying that Colonel Mustang would explain everything. He seemed convinced his companion was innocent, and whatever explanation you would provide would convince us as well."_

Roy sat back for a moment, his head spinning. Ed had deliberately reached out to him, then? Then, either he'd wildly overestimated just how mad the kid was at him, or...

Or he was in danger.

His heart dropped, and the seemingly permanent frown etched onto his face twisted into a murderous glower.

Not now, damn it.

God damn it, _no._

He'd just lost Maes, and now, Ed...

 _No, no, NO._

"Was he under duress at all?" Roy growled through gritted teeth, hand clenched so tightly around the pen it was shaking. "Did Fullmetal or his brother seem to be in any way under duress? Nervous, anxious, frightened? Injured in any way? Did you feel as if they were trying to pass across any other message to you other than to call me? Anything at all?"

" _N-no,"_ the captain stammered, sounding shocked. _"At least, I don't think so... but I wasn't thinking like that at the time. Sir, is something wrong...?"_

He glanced darkly around the room, finding all his men had clearly come to the same conclusion that he had. "...I don't know," he snapped back, tense and terse. "This third companion you mentioned- the one you suspect of these murders. Tell me more about him. Name, description? Why do you suspect him?"

" _We don't know his name, sir. And I've never seen him, but description is male, late twenties or early thirties, dark hair, glasses... as for those murders... well."_ He hesitated for a moment, quite clearly suddenly uncomfortable. _"It's taken a while to string it together, but it looks like he's been traveling through southern Amestris for almost two months now. He'll stay in one place for a few days and then move on to the next city. The night before he moves on to the next city, he leaves behind a massacre. Sometimes just one woman, sometimes a group, sometimes men are there too... all sexually assaulted, all stabbed to death. The only evidence we have is that someone matching his description was always seen with one or more of the victims the night before, and he always leaves town the next day."_

This time, the pen really did snap in his hand.

...What?

Ed and Al... were alone with this monster...?

 _Wait, no. No!_ He shook his head vigorously at himself, trying to clear it. While it certainly sounded like Ed was trying to signal him somehow, this still didn't make any sense. What exactly did he think was going on here- the Elrics had been kidnapped, and the kidnapper, rather than take advantage of having two genius alchemists and a military officer in his grasp... was just traipsing around the countryside, attracting attention to himself offing housewives? No, it was ridiculous. Besides, he couldn't think of anyone- or even any group- skilled enough to drag Ed and Al around onto trains and through cities against their will. Not without leaving a trail of explosions and destruction in their wake. There was something he was missing here... _something..._

There was something in this that felt wrong.

Just wrong.

The same way, he remembered, it had felt when he had answered his phone, knowing it was an outside call from Maes Hughes... and no one had been there.

He'd known, in that moment, that something was very, very wrong.

A beat of dreadful silence emanated throughout his office.

Then he was on his feet, black overcoat slung over his shoulders and gloves tugged onto his hands without so much as a shred of doubt.

"Captain Ran." He waved for Hawkeye to stand as well, even though the gesture was wholly unnecessary; she'd already begun to gather her things to join him. "Go out and find Edward and Alphonse. Execute a citywide manhunt if you have to, arrest them if you have to, just _find them,_ and hold them until I get there. Don't you _dare_ so much as let anyone else even touch them, is that understood?!"

This time, there was no mistaking the fear that had spiked into the man's voice over the squeaky static of the phone lines. _"S-sir, that's just it... I asked them to stay in town, but... but they've already left. They were seen at the train station and my men couldn't get there in time... they've already left."_

His gloved hand tensed, the violent urge to snap and destroy, for just a heartbeat, warring to overpower all else.

"...You call ahead," he snarled through gritted teeth. "You find out wherever they ended up now, and get you men ready for them at the station. You call me with their location _after_ you've gotten a team ready for them- but mark my words. If you do not keep them safe until I get there? You will answer to _me."_

The slam of the phone back down to the receiver echoed around his office, and Roy threw himself towards the door without another word- Hawkeye, right on his heels without even needing the order.

It was time to finish this.

* * *

Courtesy of a silver pocket watch, a commanding and authoritative yell, and an understanding that sometimes, abuse of power was just worth it, Roy bullied his way into a military transport with a car phone and was halfway out of the city before any of his superiors were dragged out of their fancy penthouses enough to care. With Riza at the wheel, they drove, drove straight through the night, surely breaking a land speed record in how quickly they approached their target. He would've congratulated her, had it not been dead silent in the car, dead silent since they had left Central.

She didn't need to speak to rebuke him. He could hear the reprimands full well.

 _You should've checked up on them sooner._

 _You should've known something was wrong._

 _You should've looked for them._

 _You should've stopped this._

 _You should've been there._

 _You should've known..._

Known when Ed and Al didn't show up something was _wrong..._

Just like he'd known when Maes' hadn't answered him that something was wrong.

Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he snapped.

"Stop blaming me, Lieutenant," he hissed, stiff and furious. "It's bad enough."

"Sir."

 _I don't blame you. You blame you._

"...Drive faster, Lieutenant."

"Sir."

She did.

* * *

They ended up reached the police station before Ed and Al could be tracked down to their new city and location. This time, Hawkeye did speak to him as they marched inside, reminding him the soldiers were working hard here and him shouting would not make them work any faster- and on some level he'd already known that, and was irritated for the reminder...

But the rest of him knew it was necessary.

"Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye," he nearly growled to the first soldier who he found. "Get me Captain Ran _now."_

He didn't need to shout to frighten anyone, apparently.

Whether or not it his orders made the soldiers nervous, or just they'd all heard rumors about the Flame Alchemist and didn't want to see for themselves if they were real or not, he had the men of the southern town running scared at his command within the first minute. Ordinarily the promises of coffee and everything else short of a strike team at his behest would've been nice, but now he was just not in the mood to be won over.

Hawkeye watched him again out of the corner of her eye, keeping any rebukes, well deserved or not, silent surely because she knew that now was not the time to test him- even for her. She did, however, move to stand a little closer to him, so close their shoulders almost touched, and when she spoke to him, her eyes had softened. "They're not dead, sir," she reminded him quietly.

 _Not like him,_ was what she meant.

 _Not yet_ was what he heard.

"I know," he ground out, voice a hushed, subdued sort of whisper. He didn't know who he was trying to reassure- her or himself.

If these men had left his subordinate alone, in the hands of a monster...

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing out carefully, and forced himself to remain calm.

Then, the impossible happened.

Edward Elric appeared.

Such an incongruous, impossible sight, Roy might've believed he was hallucinating if Hawkeye's jaw hadn't dropped, too, swinging nonchalantly into the police station from outside, grinning, unrepentant, and totally unharmed.

"Heard you were looking for me," he said, and smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you all for reviewing! Now we're really getting into some action, finally... also, I hope to get the next update up Saturday like usual, but I can't promise I will. It's totally written, but a bit of a mess and editing is going pretty slow. We'll see. Enjoy!

* * *

The train ride to the next city was short, only half an hour, and passed with Hughes pacing and promising everything would be explained soon. When they reached the next city, it was so late that the station was already mostly deserted, and they were alone in the night as they stepped out onto the empty platform.

Hughes spoke immediately, his features tense. "I'm going to go make a call, outside. Wait here for me for a moment, boys."

Ed was already tired, strained, and stressed beyond belief. He was just tired enough to agree, just watching as Hughes left them standing there on the platform as he headed outside towards the pay phone. "I sure hope we get our explanation soon," he grumbled, unable to help leaning against Al for both physical and emotional support.

"Agreed," his brother mumbled, plainly just as distressed as he was.

A pair of uniformed soldiers came in through the entry way, a different path than the one Hughes had taken. Sighing, Ed gripped his suitcase a little more tightly and straightened up, assuming they were closing down the station for the night and about to tell him and Al to clear out.

Sure enough, the men immediately headed their direction, and he waved them off before they could speak, groaning in exhaustion. "Yeah, we're going, we're going. We'll wait outside-"

"Edward Elric? Alphonse Elric?"

They both froze- and Ed, driven by instinct alone, stepped away from leaning on Al and stepped towards standing in front of him, instantly protective.

It was one thing to be approached as the Fullmetal Alchemist. But Ed had gone to great pains to ensure that people thought of him as a solo act. He didn't want the rumors to be of the dangerous Fullmetal Alchemist, and the just as dangerous brother that was always with him. He'd made many friends, working with the military, but just as many enemies, and he didn't want those enemies to ever even know the name Alphonse Elric.

That these people, complete strangers who he'd never met, knew them- his brother- on sight alone, was guaranteed to not be a good thing. Members of the military or not.

"Who wants to know?" he prodded protectively, still with his arms folded in front of Al.

Both soldiers, rather than take the question at face value, just turned away from them, searching around the deserted station for any sign of anyone else. "The third guy isn't here," one of the soldiers said hesitantly, fingering his sidearm. "That colonel didn't say what to do if we couldn't find him..."

Ed started. _That colonel? Mustang? Mustang sent them?_

The second soldier paused for a moment, guarded, then just shook his head. "He made it clear we needed to get the Elrics and hold them no matter what. I say we take this as a victory and move out."

"Wait, _hold us?!_ What the hell- I don't think so!" He wrenched out his pocket watch for the second time that day, flashing it up. "We're not going anywhere with you-"

"We're sorry, Major Elric, but Colonel Mustang outranks you, and he's ordered us to hold you at HQ until he arrives. Told us to even arrest you if we had to." The pair exchanged a wary look, then the older of the two stepped forward, fixing them with an unreadable stare. "No offense, but Flame scares me way more than you. You either come with us willingly, or I get to experience one of those infamous beatings Fullmetal loves to dish out, and you still end up coming with us, because I don't want to be incinerated."

Ed almost wanted to laugh at that, because _um, if we don't want to go with you then nothing you do or say is getting us anywhere, moron-_ but Al stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, a firm grip that kept him from reacting even when that was all that he wanted to do.

"Brother, maybe we should listen to him..."

He jerked, his eyes widening. "What? Al!"

"I'm just saying, we've been working alone this whole time and, well, it's gotten us nowhere... maybe we _should_ wait for Colonel Mustang." Al shrugged nervously, powerful hand still reassuring on his shoulder. "Besides, he's never done something like this before. Something has to be wrong."

Ed hesitated at that, biting his lip. That was true... annoying and frustrating though the bastard was, he'd never been overprotective. Hell, he was the opposite; he'd thrown them to the wolves more than once, taking obvious amusement out of understating the difficulties of a mission then smirking smugly upon their return, clearly enjoying the rants it got him. But he'd never, ever, been overprotective. If he was telling them to stay put and wait for him, something really did have to be _wrong..._

And as much as part of him did still want want to turn his back and head off with Al, simply because Mustang was telling them not to, a larger part of him knew that Al was right. Something had to be really wrong- and right now, the safest thing to do was lay low until they knew more information.

"...Okay," he conceded reluctantly, and stepped closer to Al again. "We'll go with you."

* * *

The journey to the police station was made in short order, although if Ed had hoped for things to be cleared up by cooperation, that turned out to be a big fat no. Mustang had evidently ordered they be kept safe- he hadn't ordered they actually be treated like capable adults and told what was going on. It took half an hour for them to find anyone even willing to listen to them, and then, a bit more cajoling than that to finally learn the truth.

Hughes, still unknown to everyone as anyone but their stranger of a third companion, actually was suspected of murder.

"Look, you don't understand," Ed insisted, for what felt like the hundredth time, "that's not right! And Mustang knows that, too! Come on, did he actually say that, on the phone?!"

The nervous, skittish sergeant looked away unhappily. "Well... n-no... not exactly..."

"So why do you suspect him? And why does that necessitate you dragging us down here and not letting us go?!"

"It's complicated..."

"So _explain_ it to us!"

Dithering around for a moment, the soldier at last gave in, most likely because disobeying a superior officer made him nervous- and no matter how Ed didn't like to think of it this way, he _was_ this guy's superior officer. "Like I said, it's complicated, sir." He trudged over to his desk, getting together an almost frighteningly thick stack of files. "It took the military a while to piece things together, since you kept moving around so much- but when people just kept turning up dead..."

Ed couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Well, duh. He- ... _we're_ investigating a series of murders. Of course people keep turning up dead wherever we are. We're tracking the murderers!" After all, Hughes was still undercover for whatever reason, so it still seemed wise to try and cast it like he wasn't involved.

But the soldier only frowned at him, not looking that swayed as he set the first folder out in front of them, flipping it open. "...I really don't think that's all this is, sir..."

Ignoring him, Ed gestured for Al to come a little closer and turned down to the case file. At first there were pictures, and with a violent shudder, he flipped past those quite quickly, getting only a blur of a very bloody, gruesome crime scene before he reached further details.

Scanning past the victim's information revealed little, although he did learn that she'd lived in Tephra, the first city they'd stopped in on this trek to hell. Raped and murdered, he read with another shudder. If all the cases Hughes had been investigating had been this gruesome, then he supposed he could understand why the man had been a little off kilter lately...

Just about to turn another page, Ed was stopped with Al's hand on his wrist. "Wait, Brother- look at this." He pointed towards the date of the crime.

"August 6th? Why is that important?"

"Because that's after we left Central." Al hesitated, fingers twitching anxiously over the table. "...If these were the murders he was investigating, then how did we leave _before_ this person ever even died?"

Ed blinked.

Al was right.

 _This is AFTER we left Central...  
_

"...I don't know," he mumbled at length, shutting the file with a shaking hand, and a rising sense of unease. After a moment of hesitation, he glanced back at the sergeant, earlier hostility faded as confusion took its place. "These files in chronological order?" he asked distractedly, already reaching for the second one. At the nervous nod, he gestured for Al to start spreading them out, going for his previously abandoned suitcase.

"Brother?" Al asked, already spreading out the files.

"I've got receipts for most of the train tickets still." He dug through his meager luggage, searching for those little scraps he'd hoarded and saved for no particular reason at the time, that were now going to help a great deal. "We can match up the dates..."

"Oh! Of course!"

It didn't take long for Al to lie out the files and record the dates in a single neat list, for their convenience, and, mostly due to just how little luggage Ed had when he traveled, the receipts were found quickly too. It was easy, from there, to line up the two and compare the dates- but with each comparison, it got harder and harder to go on.

Because each comparison was wrong.

It wasn't just the first city. Every single case, the murder- or, in some cases, murder _s-_ happened _after_ they'd arrived. In fact, not just after they'd arrived- almost always, the murders occurred the day before they'd left, which was now starting to look conveniently like the real culprits skipping town to avoid suspicion.

Mostly women, but some men, as well- all raped and murdered.

"This doesn't make any sense..." Ed whispered, sitting back weakly in his seat while Al stood next to him, just as shocked. "This makes it look like the murderers are following us... not the other way around."

Al nodded weakly. "I know... but there's more." He pointed at one of the files with a trembling hand, voice drained with horror. "Most of the cases, the victim's friends reported seeing them with a strange man the night before. Dark hair. Dark clothing. ...Glasses."

Ed's heart skipped a beat.

"...I k-know it sounds bad," Al went on weakly, suddenly frantic, "really, really bad... but there's got to be an explanation? R-right? Hughes wouldn't... he would never..."

With a weak, miserable gasp, he sat back in his seat, unable to help hugging himself through a shiver. "No. No, of course not. I- of course not!" A startled laugh ripped out and he ducked his head, shaking. "I mean, I can see why they suspect him... but they don't know him. He's not... no..."

 _It can't be..._

 _..._

But, with the dark, awful feeling just growing and growing in the pit of his stomach, he knew, it _could_ be.

Hughes had been acting strange this whole time, had he not? They'd seen him that first night, after all, feeling up the woman in the bar. He hadn't mentioned his wife or daughter once. He wasn't wearing his wedding ring. He'd been avoiding them, barely even mentioning the case he was supposedly investigating, taking them around the south aimlessly without rhyme or reason, not, as far as they could tell, tracking anything at all...

 _Which would make sense, you know. If he's not tracking, but running._

Oh, god.

A moment later, Ed shook his head violently and buried his face in his hands, trembling. No; this was insane! How could he think this; even _consider_ such insanity! This was Hughes. _Hughes._ He's sooner believe _Winry_ was capable of something like this than _Maes Hughes._ He'd never seen anyone more protective over women. He blushed and ranted about his family, he'd told him and Al his guest bedroom was always open, he'd made them feel like they actually, just maybe, could have a home, and...

 _It just can't be!_

"Al... Alphonse..." he moaned, lowering his hand at last. He stared at his brother mournfully, unable to take this. "...We can't really be considering this, can we? I mean... it's _Hughes..."_

Al slumped shakily next to him, obviously stricken too. "I know... I- I know..."

After several slow, horrified seconds, his brother moved closer to him, cold hand touching his. "...Brother... you remember Lieutenant Schmidt?"

It took him a moment to think back, but he nodded weakly after a moment, still trembling. "Yes," he whispered. "What about her?" The woman whose house Al had found Hughes outside of, bloody and distraught- only for them to meet the woman herself the next morning, like everything was fine.

"Well..." He looked nervously at the stack of files, reaching out hesitantly for one. "It's just a hunch, but..."

Ed realized where he was going without him needing to finish the statement. A sudden chill came over him, and, his heart in his throat, Ed joined Al in his search.

Like Al said, it was just a hunch. A long shot. Probably not true. Surely impossible.

 _...But... just in case..._

Far too quickly, they found the file they were looking for.

And it confirmed everything.

Ella Schmidt, not a lieutenant in the military but a housewife, was dead. She and her husband had both been sexually assaulted, then brutally murdered, each stabbed to death in the same way each of the other victims had died.

They'd both been killed- and by the time of death, they'd died the day _before_ Ed and Al had met her.

* * *

"E... Edward?"

The kid gave a decidedly snarky wave, beaming the whole time, and traipsed through the crowd of stunned soldiers to sit sloppily on the edge of the desk Roy had claimed. "Looking for me?" he called smugly.

Roy- and Hawkeye, for the first time possibly ever in her life- were both left speechless.

After several moments, still shocked, Roy found that he had never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life.

 _He's not dead..._

But, of course, hugging him was simply not something he could do, so he gave in to his only alternative instead: anger.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?!"

Ed's eyes widened, and he tried to duck out of the way but wasn't fast enough. Roy grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off the desk, twisting the black jacket under his fist and refusing to let the kid escape. "You son of a bitch, you disappear for two months and now stroll back in as if nothing happened?! Have you ever heard of a _phone call,_ Fullmetal?! A damn phone call! _Was that too much to ask?!"_

"Hey, Colonel, listen-" Glowering, Ed tried to shove his hand off, but Roy batted the hand aside without a second thought.

"I'm not done speaking!" The momentary urge to slap him struck Roy and he just barely controlled himself, clutching his jacket even tighter and fighting the wish to throw the unrepentant, smirking brat on the floor. "You don't disappear! You don't run off without telling us where you're going! You don't just _not come back_ when you're supposed to! You do _not_ do this, Fullmetal, you understand me?!"

 _I thought you were dead._

"Next time I summon you, you come! I don't give a fuck what you're doing, you _come!"_

 _I thought you'd been... like Maes..._

" _Are we clear, Fullmetal?!"_

 _I was scared, damn you._

 _I was scared._

Ed, for all the effect his shouted rant had had, just stared up at him, wide-eyed and, for once in his bratty, midget life, finally _silent._

Everything _was_ earth shatteringly silent now, he realized, the room dead quiet and every officer present ground to a halt to stare at them, frozen and waiting for the fallout. Even Hawkeye was still, just watching him, watching and waiting and perfectly unreadable- waiting for Ed's reaction.

Startled, and as close to self-conscious as he'd been in years, Roy dropped Ed's shirt like he'd been burned but didn't step back, holding the kid's gaze and demanding a response. And his silent demands did the trick, when at last, Ed stepped backwards, and, bewilderingly, raised his hand in a salute.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, nonplussed.

And that was that.

 _I was worried, you insolent little prick_ echoed in his mind, but all that came out was a cold, "Good. See to it that I never have to repeat that again," and then a gruff cough of get-yourself-together-Mustang, and, "Now: where is Alphonse?"

The little Elric scowled at him, the first Elric-style thing he'd done, really. "Don't worry about him. He's fine. He's back at the hotel."

" _Hotel?!_ " he snarled, frayed and exhausted temper incensed all over again. "You left him alone with that-"

"All right, Colonel Mustang, I don't know _what_ you're so mad about, but there's obviously been a miscommunication of some kind." Ed hopped back up onto the edge of the desk to frown at him severely, but somehow looked more annoyed than angry. "I only came here because I heard you were looking for me. What's up?"

"...What's... _up?"_ he trailed off incredulously, blinking. "...What's _up?"_ He stared at Hawkeye, and the curious little question had rendered her, too, speechless in disbelief. "...Are you serious right now, Fullmetal? After all the shit you've pulled recently you really... have _no_ idea... what's _up?!_ "

"Colonel, what are you even talking about?" Ed interrupted. "I haven't done anything!"

"What am I talking about? _You called me!"_

Ed blinked, startled. "...And said what, exactly?"

Roy cut himself off short, still furious and confused and now cursing his sudden apparent inability to explain. "Well- it wasn't _you,_ you had Captain-" He swiveled around in an arc, searching until he found the soldier nearby, watching in just as much disbelief as the rest of them. "Captain Ran! You had him call me!"

Ed blinked again. "No I didn't."

"You most certainly- ...what?" Staring, Roy turned from his subordinate to Ran, who was now gaping at Ed in obvious disbelief. "That's what he said on the phone."

Ran stared at him now, his eyes widening, then bolted forward, entering the conversation in defense of himself. "Yes, you did, Major Elric! You explicitly told me to call Colonel Mustang!"

"I have never seen you before in my _life!_ When did I tell you that?!"

" _We met yesterday!"_ Ran shouted, plainly distressed. "Remember? At the library, with your brother?! You told me-"

"I haven't been to a library in weeks!" Ed spun around to look up at Roy, his eyes wide and imploring. "Colonel, sir, you have to believe me! This guy's lying to you!"

" _What?!"_

Staring between the two soldiers, Roy found himself completely stuck and with no idea what to say. He knew even less of the situation now than when he'd stormed into the station just less than half an hour ago, and that was really saying something. First Fullmetal was in danger, in the hands of a probable psychopath, and now he wasn't; first Ed had told someone to call him, and now someone had lied to him to make him think that...

"All right," he declared at last, rubbing his already throbbing temples with one hand. "I don't have any idea _what_ is going on here, but no one's leaving here until I've figured it out. Ed: give Lieutenant Hawkeye Al's location, he's coming to wait with us. Lieutenant Hawkeye, arrest Captain Ran."

" _What?!"_ the captain shouted again, reeling backwards in alarm. "But I didn't do anything!"

Roy raised a hand, too strained and stressed to care. "It's a precaution, not a punishment. Under the circumstances, I don't have much of a choice-"

Another soldier stepped up, moving in between Hawkeye and the captain just to glare at him, standing in the way like a man with a death wish. "I don't think so, Colonel. You don't have the authority to arrest any of my men- nor is there any need to. Both Captain Ran _and_ Fullmetal are going to stay here until we straighten this out but you are not going to arrest anyone."

He came to a stop, and Hawkeye did, as well, his lieutenant holding perfectly still and waiting for his call. Roy's eyes narrowed as he looked over this new man, this moron who had the audacity to challenge him when it was his subordinates who were at stake here. _"Your_ men?"

"Yes," the soldier snapped, eyes flashing dangerously with a protective sort of gleam. "Major Hash. I'm in charge of everyone here... meaning that it is _my_ subordinate that you're threatening, Colonel Mustang."

Roy glowered, holding in place and looking darkly between the soldiers and Ran, then Hawkeye, his heart pounding. A quiet voice in the back of his head reminded him that he could, very easily, point out that he outranked Hash, and therefore had the authority to do anything that he wanted and any complainants Hash had would best be kept silent and ignored- but...

The look in his eyes stopped him.

Because it was the same protective, dangerous sort of look that he imagined was in his own right now.

And that let him realize that, perhaps, it was the long night and weeks of stress that had combined to lead to an unreasonable order- as now, he could see, that it actually was unreasonable.

"...Fine," he relented at last, lowering a hand and swallowing his pride. "Fullmetal: stick with me. Captain Ran- over there." He pointed darkly over to the other side of the room and gave the major a stern look implying he damn well better make sure his soldier didn't leave. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, I still want you to go pick up Alphonse."

Ed stiffened, shaking his head almost instantly. "Wait a minute, that's not necessary. Let me go find him-"

"No. You're not going anywhere, Fullmetal."

Ed scowled at him, but when he did not even come close to relenting, the kid just sighed, scrubbing his face. "Let me call him, at least, make sure he's actually there. Don't want to make Lieutenant Hawkeye go all the way down there for nothing."

Roy hesitated, but the kid _did_ have a point, so after a moment he just nodded, waving for Ed to go ahead and call his brother. Hawkeye went with him without him needed to even add that as a command, and, with an exhausted grunt, Roy sank down into the desk chair to bury his head in his hands.

What in the hell was going _on?_

Roy found himself keeping an eye on Ed and Hawkeye across the room as he rubbed his eyes again, battling exhaustion. His instincts screamed that something was very wrong, but really, that couldn't be any more obvious. The problem was, beyond just a vague, unidentifiable _something_ that was off, he didn't have the slightest clue what was going on or how to fix it. He felt almost duty-bound to believe Ed when the kid said he hadn't met Captain Ran... but if Ran was lying, then, to what end? Just to get him out here? Well, here he was, and so far, any possible plan of his was falling spectacularly short. If they'd been intending to ambush him, well, it was a little bit too late for that now...

Besides, never once had Ran stricken him as a liar. He believed Ed, of course- but he wanted to believe Ran as well...

But it just wasn't possible that both were telling the truth.

Roy groaned, rubbing his hand over his face again, and sank back miserably against his chair.

Damn.

The sound of someone clearing their throat attracted his attention, and, albeit with a great air of reluctance, Roy lifted his head to turn towards the soldier now standing at his side. Major Hash, looking expectant and unsure, all at once. Beautiful. "What?" he grumbled.

"...You've got a phone call in my office, Colonel."

Roy stiffened. "What? ...That's not possible," he returned, even as he pushed himself unhappily to his feet to deal with this. "No one even knows I'm here yet. Who is it?"

"What? Oh, no, sir..." Hash shook his head as he led the way back to his private office, appearing distinctly unsettled; Roy finally tore his gaze off Ed and Hawkeye and focused on him. "He called your office first; your men redirected him here. But..."

"But _what?"_

Hash hesitated, the look in his eyes something that made Roy extraordinarily uncomfortable. "...I think you'd best see for yourself, sir," he said at last, shutting the door behind him, then gesturing towards the phone on his desk in clear instruction for him to take it.

And, confused to say the least, Roy hesitantly sat down and picked up the phone.

"Colonel Mustang speaking."

" _Oh, thank god, finally. Mustang, it's me- Ed."_

...

A slow, uncertain glance up at Hash told him the soldier was experiencing the same sudden mind break that he was.

"Um..." Slowly, Roy stood up, leaning out to look through the window. Hash stood aside for him, following his gaze to where, right outside, Ed stood on the phone. Hawkeye, right next to him, clearly close enough to overhear, didn't betray any sign that anything was wrong or even odd.

"...Edward, is there any particular reason you don't want to have this conversation face to face?"

" _What? Oh, yeah, you're headed this way... look, don't be pissed, okay, I know you told us to stay put. But I wanted to talk to you before you got here. It's important, bastard."_

His eyebrows rose past his hairline. "...Ah...that really doesn't explain anything, Fullmetal..."

Ed sighed loudly. _"Like I said, don't get mad- and don't take it out on the soldiers over here, they actually tried pretty hard to keep me and Al at their HQ, and we cut the phone lines, actually, so they wouldn't be able to call you before us. It's not their fault, but like I said, we really needed to talk to you."_

"...Cut the... phone lines...?" Baffled, Roy stared down at the phone in his hand, then outside again, towards where his subordinate was, also, on the phone. And why wasn't Hawkeye looking more confused? She could surely hear the nonsense he was spouting. "Fullmetal, are you concussed...?" He really couldn't see any other sort of explanation here, unless the kid was talking in some sort of code- but this really didn't sound like it.

" _What the- bastard, shut up, I have no idea what you're talking about. Listen to me. I don't know what you're thinking, but I know he's your friend. I know you're close to him. And I don't know what the soldiers down here told you, or what you think is going on, but... but something is very wrong with Hughes, Mustang."_

Well.

His brain was now sufficiently broken.

"...Um... Ed?"

" _Look, I'm not going to pretend I know what exactly is going on. And I'm not saying he's a psycho or anything! Maybe something happened to him, or he's sick, or I- I don't know- I know he's not just a crazy going around offing people, but... something's not right with how he's acting, bastard. Something is not right with him. It hasn't been since we left Central."_

Roy gaped openly at the phone.

It all sounded sincere. Ed sounded perfectly sane, perfectly fine, like this was just a normal conversation, no hidden meaning, no danger, no code, no anything. Just a normal conversation between subordinate and superior about a colleague and friend.

Which made, of course, absolutely no sense at all.

" _Mustang, he's-"_

"Wait, Ed," he demanded at last, unable to stop himself. "Stop. Stop. You... did you say... Hughes?"

Outside the window, Ed continued talking airily on the phone, waving a hand without a care in the world... and in Roy's ear, Ed went on, tension and anxiety rising with every word.

" _Yeah. He's... god, I don't want to say it, he's cheating on his wife, and- Mustang, the women he's been with- well, the people, I guess, it's not always women- but that's not the point. Mustang, they've all ended up... they-"_

"Hughes?!"

" _Mustang, I think he killed them."_

Outside the window, Ed laughed carelessly. On the phone, Ed was dead silent.

And finally, it just clicked.

The shape shifting homunculus.

In Ed's report from Lab Five...

 _They said they were homunculi. I only saw two; both had the Ouroboros tattoo, and one of them, Envy, could use alchemy to change form._

Envy.

One of these Eds was _Envy._

Roy looked between the phone in his hand, and the kid out the window once again.

That kid out there had called him Colonel Mustang, sir, and saluted him. The one on the phone had called him bastard.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

 _And if this Ed... if he's talking about Hughes... if he thinks Hughes is alive..._

The wedding ring, left alone and abandoned in his shirt pocket since that day he'd found it in the cemetery, suddenly felt as heavy as a lead weight.

Oh, god.

Oh, _god._

He bolted to his feet before he knew what was happening, fury and grief and injustice all striking him so hard he gasped but none stronger than the sheer _terror_ that swept through him from head to toe. He clenched the phone cord tight in one hand, the other tensing desperately, ignition glove pulled tight over the back of his hand as if to snap at thin air. "Ed, listen to me very closely. Get out of there. Get out of there _now._ Run! Get Al, and run as far away from there as you can get as fast as you can. Run. Run _now,_ Edward!"

To his horror, however, the kid actually _laughed,_ blowing off his worries like they were nothing at all. _"Hey, relax, bastard,"_ he chuckled, " _Al I can take Hughes, it's no problem-"_

"You're not listening to me, Fullmetal!" That time it was almost a shout, twisting the cord into a knot over his hand and heart pounding frantically in near terror. "I don't care what you think you can do, you and Al are in danger! You need to run- _run now! Edward!"_

No one answered him.

"Edward, come on, are you listening to me?! Ed?!"

And again, there was only silence.

Silence, until...

The sound of low, deep breathing.

Lower than it should've been.

"E... Ed?"

" _Ah, ah, ah... not quite, Colonel Mustang."_

His heart stopped.

That voice.

That _voice._

 _Oh, no... oh, god, no..._

"W-who are you?" Roy forced out, but the force he'd wanted to keep in his voice was gone, the question now a weak, parodying sort of imitation of the demand he'd intended. His hands were shaking, and he lowered them to clench in his lap. "Who are you?! What have you done with Ed?!"

But he _knew_ who it was... he recognized that voice- would recognize it _anywhere._ But- _but-_

Oh, _god._

He was going to throw up.

" _Mmm... I don't think you really need to know that, Colonel Mustang. Little Edward is mine, now. ...Tick tock, Colonel. Tick tock."_

Then the line went dead.

He jerked forward in his seat, clutching the phone to his head as if was all some kind of trick, and a moment later Ed would come back miraculously to laugh at him, and- and- _that man_ would- _no. No, god, no._ When silence was his only reply, a black, chilling silence, he gripped the phone even tighter, heart starting to pound so hard he could barely breathe.

"E- Ed?! _Edward?!"_

But he was gone.

Just like Maes.

 _No..._

A loud, carefree laugh from outside startled him, jerking him back from the desk to stare. There, out through the window, was Ed. Hanging up the phone now and talking to Hawkeye, his eyes bright, one hand gesticulating as he headed back over to sit down.

Roy's eyes narrowed at it.

His right hand.

That was one way, right there, to tell whether or not this Ed was not, actually, _Ed._

Heartstopping fury swept through him from head to toe, and Roy was on his feet and had slammed through the door before he could even process anything else.

Hawkeye and the probably-not-Ed both started, looking up at him as he stormed out towards them, utilizing every bit of self control he had to keep his features controlled. Hawkeye still could tell something was very _wrong,_ he could see it in how she stiffened instantly, her eyes going wide at the sight of him, but Ed just smiled casually and looked over at him, raising a hand again. "Hey, Colonel, where'd you run off to?"

Roy didn't answer.

He just kept walking- and by the time his black march of an approach had alerted the kid, too, to the fact that something wasn't right, it was too late for him to do anything to stop him from grabbing his right hand out of the air, violently dragging it up, and yanking the glove off.

His hand was flesh and blood.

Roy snapped.

Flames burst to life, a concussive blast socking the imposter in the stomach and sending him head over heels to smash into a desk so hard it shattered. Smoke spiraled upwards and at the twitch of a foot he snapped again, so violently the limb should've blasted off- _would have,_ if he'd been dealing with a human here.

But he was not.

The remains of the desk and his smoke shielded the homunculus from view, only the red crackle of alchemy visible from within. Roy raised a still tensed hand, prepared to strike at the slightest sign of motion, barely only managing to control his temper and not blow the bastard to hell here and now.

Around him, the rest of the soldiers had all lost it, weapons all drawn and some focused on the smoke cloud, some at him, preparing to shoot the superior officer who had evidently lost his mind. Hawkeye was already at his back, her own weapon drawn, and Major Hash was screaming for everyone to put their guns down- but Roy had ears for none of it.

All he could hear, all he could _see_ , was the imposter hidden in the cloud of smoke.

" _Gah! Ow!"_ he screamed at last, still in Ed's voice. Red alchemy glowed again, crackling throughout the smoke with a caustic, acrid sort of smell even worse than that of the roasting of flesh. "Mustang! Ow! Why'd you do that?! Come on! Have you lost it?!"

"Shut your mouth!" He snapped again, containing the fires so the only to burn was the homunculus' skin; this time the scream he got wasn't Ed's, and he bared his teeth in a vicious glower. "I know who you really are! I know what you've done! I know you're a liar- so come on out _, homunculus, and let me burn you!"_

 _That_ cut the little sniveling coward's protests off mid-yell.

The room went perfectly silent and still. The only motion was the smoke drifting in the air, and the sound was the creature's hesitant, ragged breathing as he lay there, frozen, trying to decide what to do next.

And Roy was waiting, so when the creature sprang to life once more, he was ready, and he snapped again.

The flames blasted on the sprinting creature's heels, smoke and fire disguising him into a blur of black as he hurtled himself out of the room. Roy burst into a sprint after him, barely cognizant of Hawkeye by his side until she started firing, too, chasing the monster alongside him. Together they herded the homunculus outside, Roy jerking his hand up to snap again-

Just in time to see the little bastard throw himself off down the street at light speed.

" _Come on, Colonel!"_ Envy screamed after him, cackling into the smoke. "Come on! You want to fight me?! _Catch me first!"_

And then he was gone, hurtling down away from him so fast he wasn't anything more than a blur.

" _Sir!"_ A sharp crack of a gunshot echoed next to him, instantly followed by a howl of pain from Envy- though the blow didn't appear to slow him down at all. "Sir, what are you doing?! Chase after him!"

But Roy couldn't.

 _Tick tock, Colonel. Tick tock._

 _Catch me first._

 _..._

 _Tick tock._

Roy shut his eyes, forced out a tremulous breath, and then, shook his head.

"No," he said tensely, and sent one last explosion off down the street.

Even at this distance, he made his target, and was rewarded with Envy's screams as the homunculus threw himself into hiding. And Roy, breathing hard and shaking with the effort of controlling himself, turned his back.

"He's a distraction."

"S-sir?"

He shut his eyes, tasting the smoke in the air, and forced himself to picture, not Envy's smirk as he fled, but instead, Maes' blood in that phone booth. "He's a distraction. He's trying to delay us... stop us from finding the real Ed and Al." He breathed out shakily again, then forced himself to turn around, pointing back into the military HQ again, where the rest of the soldiers had already gathered as a stunned audience. "Ed just called me. The real one. We'll be able to find out where he is from there, and go after him. ...They have Ed, Hawkeye. They took Ed."

 _Tick tock..._

Hawkeye stared at him, eyes wide and horrorstruck. Roy somehow found the fortitude to nod, then not look after the homunculus even once as he retreated back into the station.

His hands were shaking.

 _Come on, Ed. We're coming for you._

 _So please... god, please._

 _Just stay alive._


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all so much for reviewing! Now, here we are... the worst chapter of them all :) Enjoyyyyy!

 **Warning: this chapter is rated M for sexual situations. Nothing explicit, and it's brief, and after this chapter it's over with, but if it really bothers you skim over Ed's section when it starts (you'll know) until you get to Roy's.**

* * *

The first thing Ed felt was a headache the size of Amestris, reverberating cheerfully through his skull.

No stranger to concussions, he groaned silently, gritting his teeth at the pounding and willing the pain to recede. He left his eyes shut for the time being, able to tell the lights were on and not at all a fan of looking up into them, and instead just focused on trying to remember what the hell had happened.

He'd been on the phone with Mustang... telling him about- Hughes. It had to have been. Their conversation was a little fuzzy, and he couldn't remember how it had ended at all... something about the bastard telling him it was dangerous, but then? Nothing.

Whatever had happened, it felt like he was in a bed of some kind, and he tested his surroundings hesitantly. It only took an inch of shuffling to realize he was tied down, wrists and ankles both, and Ed just barely held back the surprised gasp. _What?_ He'd been _kidnapped_ now? Could this mission get any more insane?

Well, at least the unknown bastards had had the courtesy to tie him to a bed. Far superior to the usual accommodations during a kidnapping...

Blind reconnaissance finished, Ed took a breath, prepared himself for the worst, and opened his eyes.

Everything ground to a nauseating halt.

Ed didn't really know what he had expected, to be fair... but Maes Hughes, standing across the room, looking down at him, and _smiling_ was most certainly not it.

But it was not Hughes- not as he had ever seen him before. There was no goofy grin, no pictures of his family, no twinkle in his eyes or brightness in his smile. No... that smile- if it could even be called such- was more a sinister twist of his mouth than anything else, teeth bared, and his eyes were bright, but bright with a dark sort of hunger, not kindness.

He looked like a predator standing above its prey, preparing itself for its next meal.

"Well," Hughes said after one long moment, and that sinister grin broadened. "Hello, Edward."

His mouth went dry, and Ed gulped.

A stunned heartbeat later, and Ed jerked violently, straining to pull his hands together to clap, but the restraints held fast. Gasping, he struggled to push himself away, even as he looked around the room in shock, searching desperately for some sign of what was going on- but there was nothing and no one but Hughes.

"You know, Edward." Hughes waved a finger at him, that dark grin falling into a glare as he started to pace dangerously, like a cat circling a splayed mouse. "You and Alphonse just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You just couldn't do it. All that was asked of you was play nice for a little while. Just follow me around, and let me occupy your time. That was all. But that was too much to ask, wasn't it."

It wasn't a question.

Ed's heart hammered away even harder in his chest, panic starting to grow as he jerked again, straining to work himself free. What was going _on?_ Even if he was the murderer, which he still didn't _really_ believe, _this-_ "Hughes, snap it out of it! What's gotten into you?! Come on, let me go, we have to get out of here! Let me out of here you-"

"No. You and Alphonse simply couldn't cooperate. You two, and that insufferable colonel... you are going to ruin _everything_ for me."

It was very quiet for a moment.

Then, he realized.

 _Alphonse._

"A- Al..." Ed threw himself upright as much as he could, straining to see around the small room, but there still no sign of him; _no one_ but Hughes. Panic at his own state was swept aside for heartrending _terror_ at his brother's. "Hughes!" he cried desperately, wrenching away again. "Hughes, where's Al?! Where's my brother?! _AL!"_

But Hughes just looked at him, not answering the question at all, not even looking the slightest bit concerned at the fact that they'd found themselves trapped in the middle of godforsaken nowhere and Al was- _Al wasn't there._ No. Hughes looked as if he just didn't care at all. His dark eyes flashed with a deadly sort of warning that almost might've terrified him as the man advanced a step, features stretching into an almost feral grin. "Alphonse?" he repeated, twisting the word into a mocking laugh. _"Alphonse?_ Oh, Edward. You really, really should have known better than to send your dear little brother after me."

Still smiling, he calmly raised a knife up from his belt. He twirled it once.

"Wh... what...?"

That dark smile broadened again, knife still held aloft as Hughes advanced a step, looking him over almost... _hungrily._ "Really, Edward. I don't see the logic. Yes, he's almost invincible- _almost._ Taking you out was easy, but _Alphonse?_ It was just child's play." He tsked quietly at him, a mocking sort of noise as the black grin grew further. "You really should think twice, you know, the next time you decide to send him after someone, and make sure that someone doesn't know about his blood seal." He paused for a moment, giving the knife another twirl. "Assuming, of course, someone finds all the pieces of him I left scattered throughout the city."

Ed gaped.

"Y-you..."

Hughes had... _what?_

After a moment of stunned terror and disbelief, Ed just dropped limply back to lie there, unable to do a dammed thing except just stare at him and gasp.

Hughes had been the one to put him here? But...

And _Al..._

No. It just- it didn't make any sense. It wasn't true. It wasn't real. It, this, _could not_ be real.

And Hughes, for all his speechless shock, just grinned nastily again.

"Since you won't be around to do to put him back together, of course."

He calmly threw the knife downwards. The iron blade splintered through the air with precision, embedding itself cleanly and with such force barely an inch above Ed's head. The blow reverberated through his back and he yanked away from it, choking- and Hughes just laughed again.

"Do you know how nice it is, Edward, to use knives?" he went on, beaming. "It's so _convenient."_ He pulled another one out of his belt, fingering it gingerly and letting his gaze drift towards it rather than him, looking almost enraptured. "It makes everything so much cleaner. I don't have to dirty my hands. And they're so discardable, so replaceable... I don't really like the blood, you know." He shrugged slightly, face twisting in displeasure, dark eyes leaving the blade and finding his again. "It amuses my family, but I really don't. It's made killing such a chore... until now. His knives made it all so convenient for me! Well... mostly. It's such a messy business... hard to avoid a little spatter."

He twirled the knife skillfully around his fingers again, watching the metal spin with the same enraptured sort of desire as before, and his sick grin grew.

And Ed, shocked to the core, just stared at him, mind blank and broken and barely able to breathe.

"...You're... you're really the... the killer." He stared up at him, cold horror washing through him in a tidal wave. He'd really not wanted to believe it for so long now- not even accepted it when he'd said as such to Mustang, standing firm in his assertion that it wasn't _Hughes,_ not really, that he was being framed, or something was wrong with him, or- or _something..._ but here it was. Right out in the open, the man directly spelling every crime, every act, every sin... and without so much as a drop of remorse.

It really was him.

"You... Al... and you- you raped and killed a-all those people..."

Hughes suddenly stopped short, eyes widening as he turned squarely to face Ed again. "What?" He barked out a laugh, knife dropping to his side and sick grin growing. "Is that what the military thinks it was? You people think I _raped_ them? Oh... what a blight to my reputation." He released a maudlin sigh, gliding even closer to him- and the for the first time since Ed had ever known him, he flinched back.

"No, little boy. Believe me... all these people went home with me willingly, and they were only too happy to do everything that I asked when we got there. ...Most of them, anyway." He chuckled again, a softer, slippery sort of sound as he drew even closer. "Granted, if they had known the way their nights were going to end, perhaps they might not have been quite so enthusiastic. But I enjoyed myself, and that's really all that matters, I think."

Ed stared up at him in rising horror, paralyzed from the shock and disbelief of it all. This... this cold, callous, uncaring psychopath... "I don't understand," he heard himself whisper, choke out. "I... _Hughes..._ how _could_ you?" How could this be happening? _How?_ He... he couldn't have been so thoroughly tricked... in a breath, he remembered every kind thing that man had ever done for them. Every time he'd shoved his family's pictures in their faces and talked until even the most miserable day had managed to inch its way around, every time he'd turned his nose up at the cheapest takeout Ed had been able to find and just kidnapped him for his wife's cooking instead, the way he'd so unflinchingly heard what he and Al had done to their mother and not looked at them any differently for it...

It couldn't be the same person. It couldn't, it couldn't, it _couldn't._

The memory of Hohenheim, playing with his baby brother and smiling joyfully for all the world to see one day, and then gone next, slammed into him like a ton of bricks, and he swallowed.

It could be.

It was dead silent for several long, terrible moments. The man stared down at his knife, eyes distant, surely seeing not the present but the bloody corpses of the so many that he had killed, and Ed just stared up at him, mind whirring to a nauseating level of disbelief and gut churning horror. Some tiny part of him still hoped, _prayed_ to all the dammed nonexistent gods that there were that any moment now Hughes would look back up at him, and smile, and proclaim this all to be just a mistake-

Then his gaze turned to him again, and in it, Ed still only saw the blood of past murders and the glee of one soon to come.

"You don't have to worry, Edward." Hughes flung the knife down with perfect accuracy, the blade splitting one of the bedposts with a _crack!_ that made him jump. "I'm not going to kill you, or Alphonse, for that matter. Neither of you get to die just yet. ...But..." He grinned again, and to Ed's sickened disbelief and horror, advanced again, now so close there was nowhere left to go. "After my failure to keep you two occupied, my time most likely is up. Father has no patience for failures, and when my family reaches here, that'll be it, for me."

Dark eyes wandered over him again. Dark, _hungry_ eyes.

And then, with a deliberate, ravenous grin, Hughes reached down to loosen his belt.

"So I'm planning to take the hours I have left, and enjoy them to the fullest."

* * *

" _Colonel, we've got his location! You're the one closest to him- just under an hour from where you are now."_

An hour.

An hour was long.

An hour was bad.

But it was all he had.

"On our way."

An hour was long...

But he could only hope it was not as long as three short rings of his desk phone, all the time it had taken for Maes Hughes to dial, and then, for Maes Hughes to die.

 _Don't die, Ed._

 _Please don't die._

He took a breath, yanked his gloves on tighter, and slammed his foot over the gas pedal.

* * *

Ed shouted for help at the top of his lungs.

He very quickly figured out that was going to get him nowhere, when Hughes didn't so much as bat an eye to stop him from screaming.

He still kept on yelling. He couldn't stop himself.

Far, far away, an insanely calm voice in the back of his head commented that he should be in shock. After all, what was happening was simply unbelievable. And from Hughes? It shouldn't have even felt real. Part of it _didn't_ feel real. He should've been too in shock to move, never mind fight back.

But that was just a far away voice at the back of his head, because the rest of him was too caught up in flailing desperately and screaming with everything that he had in him.

He jerked away and shouted, yanking so hard on the handcuffs with his automail the bedposts threatened to splinter and shatter. He rammed his head up whenever the man was close enough to strike, slamming it into his shoulder and his neck and his skull whenever he could and not even feeling the pain of it. But neither did Hughes; in fact if anything, the attempts to fight back only spurred him on even more. He liked it. He was _enjoying_ it.

When Ed realized that, he also realized that, before, he actually hadn't been screaming as loud as humanly possible.

Because now, he actually was.

"Now, now, Edward," Hughes chided, advancing again and hands smoothing over his shoulders, holding him down as effortlessly as if he were a child. "There's no need to struggle. This can be enjoyable for both of us, if you let it. Just lie back and have fun. Trust me, Edward... it'll only hurt if you force my hand."

"You sick freak, _stop it! Get off of me!_ Hughes-"

"Of course, if you _want_ it to hurt, that can be arranged, too. Some people like that, you know." And he tossed back his head and he _laughed_. It was a high, maniac noise, insanity and sadistic cruelty echoing in the tones and beaming in his smiles. His eyes practically shone with desire and pleasure, mouth twisted, face contorted in delight- and in that moment, oh, in that moment, it wasn't Hughes at all, and every single memory of that man offering his help and his home to them, every second he'd ever trusted him came crashing back down around him in an anguished burst of sorrow.

He'd been such a fucking _idiot._

Hughes held him down still, and then was he moving closer still, face inches from his own, eyes bright and twisted smile growing. "It's fun, Edward, _promise,"_ he laughed, a slimy and disgusting thing, and his mouth came down over his.

Ed bit him. Hard.

He bit Hughes' tongue like an animal lashing out, as vicious as he could and not letting go even at the shocked, muffled sort of shout, not even at the revolting feeling of it still in his mouth or the taste of blood. He hung on at the howl of pain, hung on because _get the fuck away from me_ and _oh my god this can't be happening-_ hung on until a fist slammed into the side of his head to knock him loose, and then Hughes was gone.

Ed gasped, reeling as he was slammed back into the bed. His head rang painfully and he yanked miserably at the restraints again, disoriented and shocked. _"Stay the fuck away from me!"_ he screamed, screamed until his voice was hoarse then screamed again. _"GET AWAY FROM ME!"_

Hughes had collapsed to his knees on the other side of the room, his back to him and head in his hands. Even from here Ed could see the blood and he yanked as hard as he could with his automail, trying desperately to break free. _"Stay away,"_ he shouted again, frantic and terrified, _"STAY AWAY!"_

It took him several horrified seconds to realize his command was actually being followed.

Hughes didn't speak to him, or look at him, or even react in any sort of way. At first, Ed thought it was the injury- he must've nearly bitten his tongue clean off- but the man wasn't making any move to take care of it or even sounding like he was in pain. He just sat there on the floor, shaking, bleeding.

For a moment, just a moment, Ed was sickened, horrified with himself. What had he done?! This had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding- it _had_ to be. It was Hughes! This couldn't be real- there had be something else here, something he wasn't seeing, something forcing Hughes' hand- or maybe it wasn't Hughes at all- just _anything_ other than this. But then he remembered Hohenheim, and he remembered _you fucking idiot, you can't trust ANYONE,_ and he remembered that _look_ in Hughes' eyes and spat out the rest of the blood, wrenching himself as far away from as he could get.

But the other man still didn't move.

He didn't move at all, until suddenly, he did.

First it was a broken, anguished whine. Ed had no idea what to make of it and was so shocked and scared he was paralyzed, but then it came again. A high-pitched sound of sheer misery and suffering, and then Hughes doubled over on himself, clutching his hands to his mouth and made the noise again.

It was a sob, he realized. Hughes was _sobbing._

An ounce of the desperate tension coiled in him inched backwards, giving ground to nervous uncertainty instead, to grow alongside his terror.

"H... Hughes?" he croaked.

He flinched when Hughes started to clamber his way to his feet, but something was wrong. Even in Ed's state, he could see that. He moved slowly and stiffly, jerkily, not acting like someone who was injured but like he was fighting against invisible restraints. He stumbled and shook and gasped, clutching himself and the wall for balance.

When he finally turned around again, Ed gasped.

Blood dribbled down his chin, coating his front and his neck and lips. His mouth was macabre, a gruesome crime scene all on its own, but the fury at being attacked or the pain of being hurt or the danger of a man about to get his revenge... none of it was there.

All he saw was anguish.

And just as much as that man before had _not_ been Hughes, the one before him now was.

"Ed," he choked out. Just that, his name, but in it once again he heard only agony as Hughes stumbled a stiff step forward, barely on his feet at all. "Ed. Please. Run."

It sounded incredibly difficult for him to speak at all. Ed flinched away as he drew another step nearer, shocked and confused and terrified, then cried out when he saw him reaching for the knife, still buried in the headboard. "Stay away from me!" he shouted, jerking back- then froze, when Hughes sobbed again.

"Ed. L-listen... to me." Horrified eyes met his own, and the knife was jerked free with a splintering _crack._ "Run. _Please._ Y-you've... got... to... run."

Ed froze, staring in terrified disbelief. _What?_ He opened his mouth but had no clue what to say. What was going _on?_

"Run," Hughes begged again, then swung the knife down, to cleanly slice through the restraint around his human wrist.

Ed reacted without thinking, hurtling away from him to slam his palms together in a cry. He was free in an instant and darted away, pressing himself back against the wall to prepare to fight... but Hughes didn't even try to stop him.

"Get Al. Run. F-fast as you can... _run..."_ His eyes bored into his own again, pleading, despairing- "-away from me... Ed, _please..."_

Then, it happened.

Hughes doubled over again, face twisting not in pain but in rage. He contorted and yelled, jerking forwards like a puppet dangling from strings. His arm raised, eyes burning, mouth becoming a vicious snarl... and the knife was raised.

Once again, Ed just reacted.

He clapped.

His arm became a blade.

He screamed, and he brought that blade back, and dove it straight into Hughes' heart.

Bones ripped apart, audibly and brutally. Soft tissue was pulverized. Blood splattered massively, blinding Ed and soaking him in its violence. And through it all, his metal arm refused to give way, and instead buried in soft organ and muscle as easily as a hot knife slid through butter.

Hughes gasped.

And Ed just stood there, arm buried in his chest, mind blank of everything at all except for the instinct to live.

He blinked, and some of the blood spatter on his face cleared. He blinked again, and he could see now: see Hughes, shocked, frozen, staring.

And dying.

He coughed abruptly, and blood hit him in the face again, the body impaled on his arm shuddering violently with the force of it. Then he choked. Desperately, pathetically, miserably, he choked on his own blood.

"E... _Ed..."_

The wretched, painful gasp died without completion, and Hughes collapsed over his arm.

Ed ran before he ever hit the ground.

* * *

By the time they reached the scene, it was already too late.

Much, much too late.

Roy led the way in, because they'd seen how homunculi didn't bow down to bullets but were at least slowed by flames, and so Hawkeye stayed back, because he gave her no choice. It had been dead silent, on the approach, silent enough to chill him to his core... to remind him of the silence on his phone when the call had come. It was still dead silent at the door, so silent it was as if the world had shattered when he slammed the door down.

When he saw what waited for him inside, his world _did_ shatter.

Blood covered him like a dripping shroud, and his shirt was torn, torn like he'd been stabbed but with no wound to show for it. All there was to see was the inky scarlet splash of a tattoo, inlaid over his heart of a sickening dragon eating its own tail.

The Ouroboros.

A ragged gasp sounded, unbelievably not his own, and Roy's eyes jerked upward to meet his. The man on the floor stared up at him, guilt and misery but defeat, too, horrible defeat in his eyes, and he whispered hoarsely, "Don't. Don't surprise me, Roy. ...If you surprise me, it's easier for the homunculus to take back control." And thus, his world shattered again.

Not _the_ world. _His_ world. Everything that he had ever known broke and shattered all over again, splintering desperately and horrifically around him, because there on the floor was his dead best friend, no sign of the child that was _Roy's_ that he'd gone after, and instead of a monster's eyes and a monster's skin, it was Maes and Maes alone.

He'd spent all this time enraged at the injustice of it all, and seething and ready to burn this monster alive for what he'd dared to do, both to Ed _and_ to Maes...

But Maes wasn't gone.

"...You're still alive," he whispered back, dumbly.

Behind him, Hawkeye gasped. Her gun stayed raised.

Maes, however, shook his head.

"No." He stayed on his knees but lowered his head, slumping down into himself even further. One shaking hand touched the horrible tattoo. "I'm not, Roy."

His heart, still a torn up, mangled piece of roadkill held together by a stitched wound, stitched ever since the funeral, ripped wide open again.

"Edward?" Hawkeye said softly behind him, her footsteps echoing in the chilling space. "Alphonse? Where are they?"

Maes doubled over weakly on himself, bowing his head with a choked sort of miserable gasp. He shook, and for a moment there, the grief, the guilt... it knocked into him like a sledgehammer. "They're dead," he heard himself say. His voice was very miraculously steady, when the words still tasted like serrated glass in his throat.

But Maes shook his head, even as he choked on another griefstricken gasp. "N-no," he managed to spit out, sounding as if it was a great difficultly for him to talk. "Not..." He shook his head again, trembling. "Al. Pieces, all over town. Okay. B-but... you have to help him..."

Roy felt himself nod tensely, painful relief striking him so hard it turned his legs to jelly even as he heard the half of the story the dead man did not say. He looked around the small, blood coated space, and he saw the guilt that was not just for dismantling a young, scared boy who never done the slightest thing to harm him. "And Ed?" he asked, feeling as nervous as a man led to his unjust execution.

His worst fears were confirmed, when Maes crumpled again, face falling in anguish and eyes squeezing shut.

"...He ran off," Maes choked out after a moment, refusing to look at him. "He's not hurt too badly, but he... oh, god, Ed. Ed. I'm sorry. He- I- I tried to- _god,_ Roy... I'm... I'm so sorry..."

He didn't want to know. Oh, god, he didn't want to know.

He didn't want to see the blood in the room, either. Or the bed. Or the broken handcuffs. Or the case files of what Maes- _not_ Maes- had done. Or the fact that his best friend looked so stricken and horrified with himself he might throw up.

He didn't want to see all those things, and, _god,_ he didn't want to know.

"Lust won't let me leave. Lust. That's the homunculus... that _thing_ inside of me. I knew you were coming... I didn't want you to see... be put at risk... but it won't let me fucking _leave!_ " Maes doubled over again, clutching at his sides like he wanted to lash out but couldn't. "It's all I can do to stop it from killing you now. I can't... I can't control it, Roy. I'm trying but I _can't._ I never could. ...The things I've... the things I've _done._.."

The pictures from the case reports struck him again, and he swallowed, staring past Maes and to the horrific creature only now- _temporarily_ \- locked up inside of him. Rage swelled within him, so potent and toxic he nearly choked. How _dare_ they? How dare they turn his best friend into this- how dare they force him to do such things- how _dare_ they?!

"It's okay," he hissed, snarling the meant-to-be-assurance through gritted teeth and seeing red. "It wasn't you. We'll figure something out, some way to control it- just calm down, it'll be fine." He spoke much too quickly and harshly to bring any real comfort, though, shaking too much and too horrified with injustice and wrongdoing and disbelief to do this right. He was going to _murder_ that little shit of a _homunculus..._ going to burn it alive and enjoy it. How _fucking_ dare they. He was going to-

But Maes was already shaking his head again, still slumped on the floor and clutching himself like he was terrified that thing was going to jump out at any second. "You can't control it, Roy," he rasped, so forlorn and defeated his stomach bottomed out. "I've been trying this whole time- don't you think I haven't been trying?! I've been trying for weeks! Months! But I just... I c-can't..."

"Maes..."

"It killed everyone, Roy." He hesitantly stopped hugging himself, still moving as if he expected to have to stop himself from attacking them at any moment. " _Everyone._ Every single person who saw the tattoo. No one even knew what it meant- and I _begged_ it not too- but Lust loved it. By god, you'd think it'd be easier just to leave my fucking shirt on instead of killing someone, but even that was too much to ask." He spoke quickly now, the words coming faster and faster and more panicked with every second, and Roy might've just covered his ears and ran if he hadn't been so stunned, because god he did not want to hear this. "I got close, once. There was this family... Lust killed the husband and wife, but the kid- Roy, she was just five years old, I _couldn't-_ I don't know how, I just _ran_ , and the moment I was outside I got my gun and I tried- I- ... I _tried,_ Roy." He broke off for a moment, shaking his head in quiet, muted defeat. "...It was the only way I knew how."

It took Roy a moment to realize just what Maes had _tried_ to do, but when he did he actually stumbled, weak at the knees. Maes had almost- had tried to- _god._

To know this had all come so close to ending weeks ago- that his best friend had almost died again, almost _killed himself_ and if it had worked he would've been dead for real... so close to losing everything again...

"But- you didn't," he gasped, still staring at him in shocked disbelief, near frantic relief. He couldn't take this. Beside him, Hawkeye was no less horrified. "Thank god, you didn't. But, how...?"

It was a startling noise that came out of him, a high-pitched, maniac, bitter laugh. "Alphonse." His eyes lifted hesitantly to meet theirs and he shook his head, trembling again. "Al found me. He startled me. Lust had been battling me the whole time... I had the gun out but just couldn't pull the trigger- and then he just comes out of nowhere, and..." He slumped even further back against the bedframe, refusing to look at either of them again. "That was all it took. Lust threw me off and ran. Made me watch as it threw all my bullets into the river. Thought it was... _funny."_

He laughed again, but didn't sound very amused at all, as he took out his gun and tossed it to the floor. Military man that he was, born and raised, Roy couldn't help but flinch, and Hawkeye beside him, a loaded weapon tossed out to violently clatter against the floor inherently dangerous- but in his head, he already knew there was no threat. The gun was empty.

Once again, Roy saw red.

 _Maes..._

"I never had a chance, after that," his friend mumbled. His voice was low again; lost, defeated. "Lust slept with just about anything with two legs that crossed my path and killed every one of them. It made her, it... stronger. There was nothing I could do. ...I've... killed so many people, Roy."

He dropped off into a broken, dead silence.

Roy had never wanted more to kill someone.

Except for the next moment, when he wanted it even more- because Maes looked up to meet his eyes again, and the hopeless, hollow, tortured despair there kicked him with all the force of a bullet.

For the first time, he understood how Maes must have felt, the day he'd broken into Roy's apartment to find him sketching out an array for suicide with one hand and holding his gun in the other.

He understood why Maes had stopped looking him in the eyes, for weeks after.

 _Except he helped me back up again. And this time..._

Roy swallowed, tasting bitter rage and bloodlust tainted with hate.

"It's okay," he repeated, but he nearly hissing the words out, physically incapable of anything resembling or calm. He gritted his teeth together, gloved hands clenching with the effort of restraint as he started to stalk around Maes, already planning out the arrays in his head, visualizing drawing them right there on the damn floor. It wasn't okay, not in the slightest- but he could _make_ it be. "It wasn't you. We'll figure this out."

"Roy..."

"We can separate you two," he went on, paying no attention, not allowing himself to. They could fix this; _he_ could fix it. He'd read that god damn book on human transmutation a thousand times cover to cover. He'd seen Alphonse's blood seal himself. If eleven year old Ed could figure this out on the fly while terrified out of his mind and missing a limb, _he_ damn well could do this now. "Soul transmutation," he went on, still speaking only for himself as he pictured the circle. He could do this.

 _"Roy,"_ Maes pressed again. Roy could see him shaking out of the corner of his eye and swiftly turned away, desperate to just _not see_ that look in his eyes, because if he turned and saw it again he was going to shatter and he could not do this.

A leg, what? Would that be the cost? Or an arm, like Ed? No matter; he'd pay it. He'd give up four limbs in a heartbeat if it would just _work._ "I've been studying again," he growled aloud, already fingering in his pocket for chalk. "Human transmutation. I can do this." And oh, _hell_ , would he be in for it later with that comment; it was very plainly obvious just why exactly he would've been studying such things recently, and Maes was going to beat him half to death for that later, but now there was _going_ to be a later and that one fact eclipsed everything else and made his heart throb with frantic, almost agonizing joy. "I'll drag this- this _Lust_ creature out of you-" _fucking bitch, burn in hell_ "and anchor you, and it'll be fine, you'll be fine, Maes, just let me figure this-"

"Roy."

"What?!"

He wanted to smack himself for getting angry the moment he'd said it, but the rest of him was too overjoyed to care. It felt normal. It was okay. This was how it was supposed to be. Him and Maes arguing. Maes about to lecture him for something or other; Roy ignoring him, sucked up into the intricacies of alchemy. It was good, and normal, and- and just _right  
_ in the way nothing else had been for two months.

Then Maes spoke, and put a cruel end to the disbelieving smile doing its best to strangle his whole face off.

"It won't work, Roy."

His throat closed painfully before his voice could fail him.

 _Please._

 _Please stop._

"...You really did die, didn't you?"

It wasn't him that asked it, but Hawkeye. Hawkeye may not have understood much of the mechanics here, she wasn't an alchemist... but then, Roy didn't, either. All he knew was what she did, too: that of all the things miraculous things alchemy could do, it couldn't do the one thing man wanted most of it. It could not reverse death.

She knew the same thing he did, and that was why he was afraid.

Maes just nodded listlessly again, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. "I did. I really did die. I'm almost dead as it is." He bowed his head with a deep, long, and miserable sigh. "I was an experiment, you know. Lust was having problems, before I came along. Barely had any lives left and kept losing control of her host because of it. So... they decided to try something else."

"A body without a soul," Roy echoed, mind still spinning with the facts of human transmutation. He could see the circle again. So beautifully complex, but he knew ever line, every curve, every symbol. Just give him five minutes to fix this... "The soul's their problem. The soul fights them. So if they could just get a body without a soul..."

"And there I was," Maes finished for him, grinning emptily. "Not even dead a week. They thought it was ironic... they killed me for finding out about them, then brought me back to be used by them."

They'd thought it ironic. Roy thought it gutwrenchingly wrong.

He shook his head, letting the mind spin, the complicated alchemy of human transmutation distract him because oh god did he desperately need one. "The soul and the body are inextricably linked. One can not live without the other. When the body dies, the soul does not cease to exist, but passes on... but when your body came back, and so quickly... your soul came back with it."

Once again, it was a rather listless shrug and chuckle that was his answer. "Guess so," his best friend whispered, and looked at him again.

It was just a look.

But it said everything he couldn't stand to hear, couldn't bear to accept, and already, in his heart of hearts, knew.

He shook his head.

He shook it again, in a silent, desperate plea.

No. God, _no._

"Shut up." He squeezed his eyes shut, the breath leaving him like he'd been socked in the chest. The array gleamed in his mind, every intoxicating line of it, and he couldn't stop himself reaching for the chalk he kept closer than any sidearm. "We- I can do this. What, did those bastards lie to you, say it wouldn't work?! It'll _work,_ Maes." Because it had to. Because he couldn't live if it wouldn't. Because he needed it to. Because- _because-_

 _Please._

"It'll kill you, Roy," Maes whispered, and Roy just left his eyes shut. "I don't have to be an alchemist to know it. You'll die-"

"I will _not!"_

 _"-_ and for what?" He went on as if Roy hadn't said a thing, voice wavering but that horrible look in his eyes piercing him through like vile poison. "I'm dead, Roy. I'm barely even here now." He shook his head for a moment, withdrawing in on himself once again. "I can't even tell you what I found out about the homunculi- what got me killed. I'm _trying_ but she just... won't let me. You think she could do that if I weren't dead? They didn't bring me back, you idiot. I _can't_ come back."

And just like that, his heart threatened to shatter all over again.

He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed being called _idiot_ in as a fond, scathing moniker until it'd happened again.

Roy bowed his head, stiff shoulders shaking so hard he feared he just might fall apart.

"You don't know that," he said finally. A whisper of sorts. A choked, strangled, pathetic, _pleading_ sort of whisper. "Ed didn't die. It just took his arm." In that moment he wanted it so badly he'd tear his own arm straight off if it that what it took. _Whatever_ it wanted from him, he'd give. Surely it couldn't hurt any more than this. God, he'd give anything, just _please_ let him fix this. "I can do this, Maes. You have to believe me. I c-can. I _will._ I. I won't let you-"

"You'll kill yourself, Roy."

He didn't care.

 _Just let me bring you back._

There was a heavy, dead silence.

At last: "Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Roy stiffened. He'd almost forgotten she was here- but like his shadow, she'd remained at his side the entire time. She stepped forwards now, returning Maes' look with one of her own, like she knew exactly what he was asking from her without him having to say it. Her eyes raised to his, and he nearly flinched.

He had never, _ever,_ seen her look at him like that before.

It took her a moment to even find her voice, and then even longer for her to decide what to say. That somehow struck him more than anything, because nothing could reduce his lieutenant speechless, and when she finally spoke, her miserably quiet, devastated voice- no, _no_ it was wrong. He couldn't take this. This wasn't happening.

"I won't let you draw the circle, Colonel."

His temper snapped in half before he could stop it, the ends left to fray and bleed inside of him and infect him all through with parasitic agony. "Stand aside, Lieutenant. Neither of you even _know_ what you're talking about! I can bring him back- _let me_ , damn you! Get out of my way and _l_ _et me bring him back!"_

But she just looked at him and didn't move. Didn't move a single inch. Her lower lip was trembling and it looked as if it had taken every ounce of her willpower to keep from crying, and she _didn't. move_. "You ordered me to shoot you, if you should every stray from your path, sir," she said at last, voice wavering and weak. She bit her lip now, jaw clenching tight with every effort to hold devastation back. "Don't... don't make me shoot you over this, sir."

 _"Lieutenant!"_

Behind her outstretched arms, he could still see Maes. His heart lurched painfully again, pleading with him to just draw the circle already, begging until it felt as he was being ripped in two. His best friend took one look at him and turned away, like he couldn't bear to see it. "I'm sorry, Roy," he whispered, hunching over on himself again. He looked like he wanted the earth to just swallow him up and crush him. "I didn't want you to find me. To see this. ...Of all people, I... I didn't want for it to be you."

In those words, Roy finally heard the truth.

 _I didn't want to ask you to kill me._

God, please, no.

But in the end... there was no choice anymore, was there?

He was already dead.

Roy shut his eyes, and this time, he didn't see the array.

He saw what he'd seen in Ed and Al's basement, the rainy night he and his lieutenant had found Risembool and more heartbreak than had any right to exist in any one life.

He'd only known that bloody, misshapen demon dead on the floor of their home was supposed to be human by the array around it. Truth had robbed Ed of his leg, and Al of his body and soul- for _that._ That pathetic, disgusting, mocking imitation of life. There was no price that he could pay, to barter in as equivalency. Not even his own head on a silver platter.

Whatever it was that a human life was worth, they were incapable of paying for it.

This time, when he breathed again, he saw that suffering, miserable creature again... but with Maes' face.

Because human transmutation did not work.

Human transmutation didn't work, and Maes was already dead.

He heard Maes talking again, and this time even just his damn voice drew anguish through him like liquid fire. "...have to kill me," he was saying, almost desperately, surely begging to be murdered. "I don't know much about these things but that'll do it. Kill me enough times and you'll end her, Hawkeye. I think I can keep her subdued for you, but... but you should stand back. In case."

In a remarkable contrast to the man begging for slaughter, it was Hawkeye's voice that was unsteady and weak, thin with barely held back emotion as she nodded stiffly, shoulders trembling. "H-how many times, sir?" she asked him, and he wanted to scream.

"...I don't know. But not many."

Yes... there really was nothing different, after all.

Maes was already dead. They were just being called upon now to be his second executioner.

Roy took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, leave the room."

They both stiffened. He was the only one not to flinch, and underneath their shocked stares, he calmly retrieved his gun out of its holster, checking the bullets, and clicked off the safety.

This would be quick.

"Sir-" she started, reaching for him, his gun, as if to disarm him.

"I'll do it." He raised his weapon again, not taking aim yet; not even looking yet. He didn't think he could stand that. "I'll... kill him."

There was a short, dead silence, broken only by the sound of him cocking his weapon.

Really, there was no other way he could let this end, and still live with himself.

Hawkeye's eyes at last softened from their iron hard refusal, because now, she understood. But his impossible, determined lieutenant did not return. She blinked and bit her lip again, a thin film of tears coming to her eyes though she still stood firm, not giving him even an inch of what he'd asked for. "I'm not leaving, sir."

He sighed.

"There is no reason for us both to see this, Lieutenant."

"There's no reason for you to see it alone, either, sir."

He sighed again.

He hated, sometimes, how obstinate she could be. How loyal.

There was no room for loyalty here. Not anymore.

His voice dropped even lower, Roy somehow cleared the lump in his throat away, just enough to speak. "I'd like for at least one of us to sleep tonight, Hawkeye. ...Please."

He closed his eyes as he said it, not wanting to see the look in her eyes. Not wanting her to see his, because then, she'd know, all that he couldn't say.

 _I don't want you to see me like this._

 _I don't want you to see me as a monster again._

 _I don't want you to see what I'm about to do, and suffer for it. I asked you to follow me into hell, and if this isn't hell, it doesn't exist, but..._

If she were here to watch, it'd hurt more.

He knew that.

And after several seconds, Hawkeye knew, too.

"Sir." This time, it was with a salute, and the most pained look in a person's eyes he'd ever seen, and she was still crying silently and her voice was unsteady- but she nodded to him, nodded to the executioner like it wasn't going to kill him to do this. "I'll... be just outside the door, then, sir. If I don't hear anything for more than thirty seconds, at any time, I'm coming back in."

He wasn't sure if the time limit was to prevent this creature inside of Maes from taking control and fighting back, or if it was to stop him, from taking advantage of her absence to draw out human transmutation in the blood on the floor and finish this in the only way he could still stand to. Whichever it was, he didn't ask. He just nodded, too, because he didn't want to know.

Hawkeye turned, but then, she paused at his side, looking back down at Maes, still sitting on the floor and condemned to die. Maes looked at her, saying nothing but plainly grieving, and for a moment, Hawkeye's hand clenched so tightly around his she almost broke his hand.

They'd been friends, too, after all.

Then the moment was broken, and she turned her back and left without another word.

And then, it was just the two of them.

For a heartbeat that might've lasted an eternity, they just looked at each.

Then: "I guess... this is it, then."

The hoarse, strained laugh that ripped its way out of his throat made him feel as if he was dying. "Yeah. _It."_ He closed his eyes for a moment, tracing the miserably, freezing cold barrel of his gun. "...You... you're sure you won't... at least let me try, Maes?"

Roy had known Maes for a very long time, and so at the level, seething stare fixated on him then, he knew there was no other way for this to end. "I will let Lust go and have her kill you right now, Roy, before I let you do that to yourself. To both of us."

He laughed quietly again, and did not reply.

When Maes saw that he was not going to set about drawing the circle anyway, the fire in his gaze slowly cooled, slinking back away to be replaced by hesitant sadness. "You can leave, too," he prompted quietly, but it was without any sort of conviction or hope. "You can stand outside and watch, make sure I don't escape. You can burn the building down. It'll kill me. ...You don't have to do this, Roy. You- _neither_ of you have to see this."

Roy wasn't sure why he laughed, that time, but he did. The desperate edge, the way it almost sounded as if he was begging for it... He shook his head, because the request _was_ laughable, even if not in any way that was funny. "You died alone the first time," was all he said, calmly checking the bullets again. _Not this time._

It was the only mercy he could give, and Maes didn't fight him.

Maes knew it'd hurt him more to leave than to stay.

The glint of the brass bullets in his gun was bright, a weapon that had always felt unnatural and impractical in his hands. He'd use it anyway, because he'd heard Envy scream when his flames had caught him. These creatures could still feel pain. He'd use his gun, and make it quick. He sighed, staring at the bullets for one last second before, _before,_ then-...

That golden glint...

Miserably, Roy smiled.

He lifted a hand up to his pocket, numb fingers fiddling weakly for the item inside. "I think you dropped this," he whispered aloud, voice somehow steady, and held it out for Maes to take.

The look on his face was as if he'd just saved a drowning man.

"My ring..."

His hands were cold when they seized around Roy's, taking it up reverently to stare at it in agonized relief. "This was the first thing they took. They threw it away like it was trash. Roy... _how?"_

He smiled a little, shrugging. "Doesn't matter."

Maes gazed at the ring reverently again, staring for several moments until, with an anguished smile, he slid it down carefully onto his left ring finger, situating it just so. He wrapped his other hand around it for a second, eyes shut, and contentment so real it hurt twisted his face into another heartbreaking sigh of relief. "You have no idea what this means to me," he whispered, pressing his mouth to the ring.

"Yes, I do," Roy said, and fired.

* * *

Outside, her hand on the knob, door wrenched open just an inch, Hawkeye fell still at the sound of gunfire.

She lowered her own weapon, and her head.

"Did that hurt?" came at last, and if she hadn't known him so well, she would've called it steady.

"...No," Maes answered calmly. She almost thought she could hear him smiling. "Not any more than dying did."

"Good."

There was another pause.

"Shut your eyes, Maes. ...Please."

...

A second gunshot.

Slowly, Hawkeye backed away, shutting the door behind her. She turned her back and stood guard, even if the weapon in her hands felt like a lie, because she couldn't protect anyone with it now, and she began to breathe to the rhythmic tune of gunfire.

She let the tears roll down her cheeks, unheeded.

* * *

He fired. And he fired. And he fired.

It was funny, almost.

Each bullet, carving a devastating path through his brain, blood spatter flying, watching him die again and again- and then, with a red flicker of alchemy, return to life. He'd smile again, and wait patiently for death. And Roy would fire again.

And thus, it went.

When Roy pulled the trigger again, countless times too many later _(eighteen, it was eighteen times later)_ , he was almost surprised when it clicked emptily and didn't kick back at him with gunfire. He stared down at the gun in his hand, then at Maes, and for a sickening moment, wanted to laugh.

He really wasn't used to guns anymore, if he'd forgotten he needed to reload.

"How many lives does that thing have?" he mumbled past the lump in his throat, discarding of the empty ammo clip. He reached for a new one, and jammed it into his gun.

"Enough," Maes snarled, and the claws hit his face.

This time, there was no hesitation.

He saw the monster take over. He saw the face shift, lips pulling back into a hateful growl and eyes widening with an intense burst of rage, he _saw_ the cruelty contort it until his own best friend's face was _unrecognizable,_ and he was firing even before the claw-like, inhuman fingernails connected with his cheek.

He fired, and he fired, and he fired.

"Oh, god, Roy! _Roy,_ I'm so sorry, are you all right?! I tried to stop her-"

He fired again, this time aiming for his mouth.

 _Shut up._

 _Shut the hell up._

Whether it was the bullet or the shock, Roy didn't know- but Maes did, indeed, stop talking.

This time it wasn't slow, or rhythmic. This time it was frantic. This time he squeezed his trigger finger over and over again as fast as he could, and the gunfire rang in his ears and he could smell the blood and he saw him die over and over again but he just couldn't stop. He wanted it _gone._ He wanted it, everything, _himself,_ _gone._ He wanted to fire until Lust was gone and Maes was dead and he- he just couldn't feel this anymore.

He fired until his vision was so blurred over with tears he couldn't even see who he was aiming for anymore.

 _Please._

 _Please let this end._

 _PLEASE just let this be the end..._

 _because I don't think I can take this anymore._

His hand was shaking.

 _Please..._

It felt like he was at the funeral all over again. Listening to Gracia cry, and Elicia scream. It felt like he was lying to Ed all over again, faced with the innocent _where's Hughes_ question and he'd just _choked_ and given up and lied because he could not, could not, could not say it. It felt like Hawkeye's _are you all right, sir_ are all over again, when it was just the two of them, and he wanted absolutely nothing more to draw the circle in the graveyard dirt that would give him his friend back even if it cost him his own life. It felt like he was falling and drowning and burning alive all at once. He was suffocating and couldn't get out. He was dying and didn't even have the air to scream. He was dying and he couldn't- he _couldn't-_

 _I can't do this._

 _Please, god, I can't do this._

The finger on the trigger, shaking so badly it barely gripped the metal, fell still.

 _I can't do this anymore._

It was silent for a while, the only thing he could hear his own hitched, miserable breaths, ripped out from him like a dying man's.

Then, two cold, dead hands closed around his own.

"Roy, it's okay."

He choked again _._

 _No. It's not._

But he was paralyzed, and helpless to stop him as Maes calmly stood in front of him again, guiding the gun up, up, and up until the cold barrel rested on his forehead. But even though he moved so surely and steadily he was shaking now, trembling desperately, his voice shuddering to crack and shatter as miserable tears of his own streaked down his cheeks. He didn't _want_ to die, not like this, and not now, but it was too late. There was just no other other way."This is what I want," he whispered, and it was dead silent again, dead silent except for his own hitched breaths, and the quiet of the storm.

Maes' finger slipped around to touch the trigger.

"No," he choked out, before he could stop himself. "No. Please."

 _don't do this don't do this don'tdothis_

One of his hands lifted up to rest on his shoulder. Only one; the other, still with its damming grip on the gun. "Tell my girls I love them."

His own breaths hitched again. Roy blinked furiously, desperately trying to clear his vision, managing just in time to catch a blurred snapshot as his friend smiled at him. "I love you, too, Roy. Thank you for doing for this for me."

He pulled the trigger.

Thirty seconds later, Hawkeye came back.

Some distant part of his mind heard the door shut. The rest of him didn't really know, until some time after she'd put her hands on his shoulders, harsh and unyielding, and tried to pull. She was trying to turn him away, he realized. Turn him away so he couldn't see it anymore.

It was far, far too late for that.

He raised a gloved hand calmly, gun clattering to the floor. She stiffened next to him, alarmed, covering it with both of hers, but he refused to so much as lower it, or look at her.

"There will be no evidence of this." He snapped once, the sound louder than his hoarse voice. A searing jet of blue flame exploded over the body, so hot he could feel it from where he stood. He incinerated bones and skin, burned everything down to the teeth, destroyed it all until even the wedding ring lay there in a puddle of melted gold.

Even when it had long ago melted, he could still see the smile he'd died with.

"Maes Hughes died eight weeks ago. This... tragedy, will not come up again. I will take no risk of his family hearing of it." He lowered his hand, staring down to the scorch marks on the floor. "Lieutenant, see to it that this building burns as well. I want nothing left behind except ash."

"...Yes, sir."

She was crying, silently.

He let it be.

"When you've finished here, look for Alphonse. I'm going to find Edward."

"Sir."

This time, he was the one who turned his back, and left without a second glance.

This time, she stopped him, just as his hand reached the door.

"Are you all right, sir?"

He stopped. Wanted to laugh- might have, actually, if the knot in his throat hadn't been so painfully thick.

That question, again.

"No," he said, and stepped out into the sun.

It was raining again.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you all for reviewing! And now, here we are- the final chapter. Sorry this is up late :( This semester has been... wow. And we're only like four weeks in. Um. What? yeah. Well, I don't resolve as many of the loose ends as I usually do in my finales, just as it's three AM and I've got an exam in six hours, but based how my free time is looking if I don't just post it now I'll never post it. I hope it's satisfying, all the same :) Welp... I'm so glad you've all enjoyed this one, and I'll see you guys next time! (Which is looking to be a Parental RoyEd mega angst fest, so, you know, get your tissues ready!) Enjoy!

* * *

On some level, Ed knew that waiting at the end of a blood trail was not a very good idea.

But, then again, much of what he was doing right now encapsulated _not a very good idea._

He couldn't quite work up the will to care.

At first his plan was to wait until he stopped shaking. Then, when he realized he just might _never_ stop shaking ever again, he decided to wait until he stopped bleeding. Then he realized that was a rather stupid measure, too, because these wounds weren't papercuts that were just going to _stop._ So Ed then decided he'd wait until it stopped raining to draw out from his little huddle underneath the overhang in the alley. It hadn't been raining when he'd got here, but now it was, just a light drizzle to slowly erode the dirt clenched between his fingers to mud, and now that felt like a perfectly reasonable course of action: just wait until the rain stopped.

It was at some point after that that he realized he had absolutely no intentions of going anywhere ever again, and his best hopes now rested on the earth in front of him swallowing up and crushing every last memory out of his head.

Ed buried his head deeper into his knees with a moan again. Some part of him just so desperately wanted Al to find him. He just wanted Al to magically find his way back together again, and come find him sitting here, and just by _being_ there he'd make everything all right again. But the rest of him-

The rest of him recoiled so strongly at even the _thought_ of Al seeing him like this he wanted to throw up.

His clothes were still torn and a mess. It would've been the simple matter of a single clap to fix them, but he was shaking too much and it felt like his head was just leaking, any useful thoughts draining straight out but the insane nonsensical ones still chasing themselves around; he couldn't focus long enough to think of the array. He had to look _pathetic._ And all the... blood...

Al would just take one look and know. He'd know what he'd done.

He couldn't... let his brother _see..._

Ed curled up even tighter, self-disgust swimming in his stomach, and again just wanted the ground to swallow him up so he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.

A splash of a footstep shattered into his thoughts like a bomb blast. He flinched backwards, pressing himself back against the wall and only barely managing to silence the strangled gasp in time. It wasn't Al, he heard that much, and in the state he was in now anyone that was _not Al_ was just going to be kept as far fucking away from his as possible. He squeezed his eyes shut and himself back more into the slick alley wall, suddenly able to hear even his own pulse pound away in his ears. Terrible arrays ran through his mind; terrible, bone-breaking, blood-boiling, body- _destroying_ arrays, so many so fast he couldn't even keep up, and he jerked his hands up, preparing to clap-

The blood on his metal arm stopped him.

Each and every circle in his mind fled, scattering apart into nothing to reform into the look on Hughes' face when he'd killed him.

The hand dropped limply to the ground, and he started shaking all over again.

Another footstep came and he flinched, making himself as small as he possibly could. There was another one. Then another one. Another, another, another, getting louder and louder until he couldn't deny it any longer but couldn't make himself do _anything_ but curl into the tiniest ball he could and just will himself into nonexistence.

A black military boot splashed into a growing puddle at his feet. There was a short pause.

"Edward."

Ed flinched again.

The man dropped down to his knees in front of him, and Ed reflexively squeezed his eyes shut in response, not wanting to even look at him.

He'd completely forgotten Mustang was coming.

"Tell me where you're bleeding from."

He just slowly shook his head, simply unable to grasp why such a thing would even matter at this point. He caught Mustang's hand rising out of the corner of his eye, moving forward like he intended to find out for himself; before he'd even realized what he was doing he'd smacked it down, then withdrawn even closer into the wall.

There was another pause.

"That was not a request, Fullmetal."

Again, the caustic response came out without thought. "Get away from me."

He couldn't do this. He couldn't sit here and listen to this, not when- he wanted _Al..._

But oh, god, did he not want Al to see him like this.

Mustang hesitated, dropping his hand again, though Ed didn't really care what the hell he did so long as he just stayed back. He shut his eyes again, the shaky, miserable breath that left him making him feel even more weak and pathetic than before, and let his mind just shut off.

When the colonel finally spoke again, it was softer than before, more subdued. A hint of pity had wormed its way into his voice, one that made Ed want to just curl up and die. "I... know what happened, Ed."

For a moment, he just didn't comprehend it. His mind stayed blank and he sat there limply, listening to the rain fall and hearing words but not even registering what they meant. But when understanding finally filtered through, with it came a cold shock so potent it slammed into him with all the force of a physical blow. He gasped, unable to help another violent flinch away, and all the guilt and disgust and self-loathing churning just below the surface suddenly just burst free.

"I'm sorry."

Mustang stiffened.

"...You're _what?"_

He couldn't bear to look at him. Another gasp wrenched itself free and he stared firmly down at his automail instead, the red-black blood running in rivulets down the steel making his stomach twist in self-loathing and his head ring still with the awful shock of it. He could still- hear the bones- _crunch-_ "I'm _sorry,"_ he begged desperately, voice rising to block it all out. "I'm so sorry. I didn't- I didn't mean- I just wanted him to stop. That's all I wanted, I swear. I k-know he's your friend and I- I never meant- I didn't want to hurt _anyone_ but he was just- he just started _coming at me_ and I-"

" _Ed."_

"-didn't think, I didn't _realize_ , I just wanted him to _stop_ so I- oh god I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to do it. I never meant to do it! I didn't want this- I n-never- I _didn't-"_

" _Ed."_ Suddenly Mustang's hands were back on him, gripping him by the shoulders just tightly enough to shake him. None of it mattered. He was already shaking so hard he couldn't push him off, voice so thick he could barely even choke the words out, but the torment inside him was growing and if he stopped talking he was going to die.

"I didn't mean to. I- I k... I k-kill..."

His hands were so covered in blood.

" _I killed him!"_

His sins finally admitted to the open air, Ed found that it wasn't any easier to breathe again, after all.

Mustang recoiled, and Ed sank back into himself, hiding his face. He choked and gasped, feeling his chest twist so tight something surely was going to break.

He hadn't meant to do it.

 _All I wanted was for him to stop..._

 _Hughes..._

He heard Mustang shift in front of him, radiating bewilderment and disbelief that made him want to scream. "You _what-_ " he started, voice rising, then suddenly cut himself off with a breath, heavy with realization and understanding, _"Oh..."_

Ed didn't know what he expected then. Was Mustang going to kill him? He should. He'd killed his best friend. _(I just wanted him to stop that's all I wanted)_ Was Mustang going to stand up and leave him to bleed to death? He _should._ Arrest him? Walk away? Throw him out of the military; never see him again? He-

"Don't tell Al," he suddenly begged, desperation cracking inside his chest. "Please. Please please please don't tell him. If he knows I- what I- I couldn't take that. Please, do whatever else you want, and I d-deserve it, I _know,_ and I d-don't have any right to ask anyone of _anything_ but just don't-"

"Ed."

The hands were back on his shoulders again. This time, not shaking him, but holding him still.

"I..."

Mustang sighed deeply, breaths wavering like this was something that was going to be incredibly difficult for him to say. "Ed. You didn't-"

" _I killed him!"_ he wailed. Something in him just collapsed, and he curled in on himself as impossibly small as he could get, head buried in his knees and his hands- his disgusting, _bloody_ hands- wrapped tightly around them.

Mustang sighed again.

"No, you didn't, Ed."

His mind remained a chilled, horrifying blank.

After several moments, he heard another intake of breath from Mustang, the colonel clearly about to explain. Ed couldn't bear that, anguish clutching at his insides, and the words just lurched out again, no rhyme or reason and just led by some desperate terror to simply get it out of him.

"I d-didn't w-w-want to... to do this... I just-"

"Ed, you didn't do it."

"I just _stabbed_ him... there was s-so much blood- Mustang, I never wanted to, I _swear-"_

" _Ed."_

"He just- he just- he j-j-just- I'm so sorry I fucked up I fucked up I can't, I messed up I'm sorry, I, I-"

"Ed." Cold, wet hands latched around his shoulders, lifting him back off the wall to sit him upright, then one shifted, forcing his chin up to look him right in the eyes for the first time.

"Hughes has been dead for eight weeks, Ed."

Once again, everything stuttered to a grounding halt.

Mustang just sat there in front of him, gaze steady and unyielding- and for the first time, now that Ed was actually _looking_ at him, he realized, vaguely, he wasn't the only one that was a walking disaster. Blood spatter soaked his hair and front, watery trails slipping down his cheeks from the rain- so much of it that if it was from any singular wound, he would've been dead. It couldn't have been his at all.

If it hadn't been for what he'd said, Ed might just not have been so stricken that he couldn't even question him on it.

"Wh... what...?"

The colonel sighed deeply, shutting his dark eyes for a moment and turning his bloody face away, but he still didn't let go of him, old fingers gripping him so tightly he couldn't have dislodged them if he'd tried. "I... don't think that now is the best time to discuss this," he mumbled, head bowed. "You're injured. Hawkeye's helping Al right now; we should go and meet up with her, then-"

"S-stop," he gasped, another tremor shuddering down through his shoulders, so harsh and wracking it drove the breath away from him. "Stop." He tried to knock one of Mustang's hands back, but this time the colonel hung on too tightly to let him. "Don't- what the fuck did you just say?"

The colonel winced, pale face twisting just slightly under the blood and the rain.

"He's been dead for months, Ed," he said at length, voice quiet, a strangled and subdued sort of whisper, "and... and I'm _sorry_ I didn't just tell you that in the first place," and once again, Ed just didn't understand _anything_ at all.

After several quiet, utterly shocked moments, Ed just leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

"I don't understand," he murmured aloud.

Because, he didn't. He didn't understand what Mustang was talking about. He didn't understand how Hughes could possibly have been dead for months when Ed had _killed him_ just that afternoon. He didn't understand how Hughes could ever done- what he'd done. He didn't understand what had happened. He didn't understand how he could've hurt Al or all those people or...

 _...what he tried to do to me._

"You don't have to understand right now," Mustang said quietly, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I'll... explain later, okay? We should go. Al'll be worried-"

"Mustang!"

The colonel paused, dark eye downcast and expression unreadable. After several moments, he said tightly, "I would greatly prefer it if we would not discuss this now."

Ed stared at him in bewildered shock, each breath still tight and painful in his chest and mind wiped utterly clean of anything but sick confusion. "You can't fucking say something like that and then just- just _not_ explain, you sick b-bastard." It was supposed to be a scathing jab but his voice rose until it cracked and he could barely get the last word out through the lump in his throat; horrified with himself and ashamed, he scrubbed miserably at his wet cheek and eyes and sank back into himself, refusing to meet his gaze again.

He caught a glimpse of Mustang flinching again, the colonel shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye with his face downturned and shoulders slumped. It was quiet for several moments, broken only by the gentle pitter patter of rain around them.

"When was the last time, barring today, that you spoke with me, Ed?"

He flinched again, the question taking him by surprise and leaving him again stiff and confused. "W-what?" he mumbled, at a loss still, but Mustang didn't even clarify, just stayed crouched in front of him with dark, bloody gaze fixated on the ground, and somehow, Ed managed to gather himself together enough to mumble a response.

"T-two... two months ago." He drew an arm around himself, shivering against the wall. "When you a-assigned us the... the mission."

Mustang sighed again.

Ed coughed, struggling to clear away the lump in his throat. "W-what?"

"...I never assigned you any mission, Ed."

He stared blankly, the horror trying to drown him still momentarily pushed back an inch by lost confusion. "Yeah, you did. You and- you were there, and you said-"

"No, I wasn't." The colonel paused, lifting his eyes up from the ground at last to fix him with a dark, absolutely miserable stare. "That was Envy, Ed."

He froze.

...What?

 _Envy?_

Mustang just looked at him still, blood dripping down his face. There was not a single hint of deceit in his eyes. Not even a shadow of a lie. No deception or even uncertainty.

Envy.

Mustang sat there silently for several moments, letting the words settle. When Ed finally felt like his head had somewhat situated itself on his shoulders again, barely reoriented in reality, the colonel went on, voice dropping even lower and shoulders hunching, despair clouding over him like a shroud. "That was Envy, and Hughes... that Hughes was... a... homunculus, Ed." He paused, and for a split second- just a gasp of a breath- his face crumpled, expression shattering into shards of pure anguish before he ducked his head, sucking in a shuddering gasp and regaining control of himself.

Ed just stared blankly.

A homunculus?

But...

His eyes widened.

A _homunculus._

Something tight in his chest loosened, then cracked free, and for just a stunned second, he felt like he could breathe again.

If he'd been a homunculus, then that meant...

It wasn't Hughes.

It- hadn't been-

None of it had been-

 _It wasn't him._

A hysterical laugh tore its way free from his lips, and Ed just dropped his head onto his knees, shaking so hard in the rain he felt he'd never be still again.

He was relieved.

It was a fucking mess, and he was probably a damn horrible person for thinking it, but- he was just, so, _relieved._

None of it had been Hughes.

Ed laughed again, hiccuping into a little sob.

He vaguely registered a concerned sort of noise from Mustang and just shook his head. He wasn't capable of pretending to be okay for him right now.

Mustang paused, holding him tighter. "I'm sorry, Ed," he murmured at last, words low and haunted. "All of this... what happened to you. It's... because of me."

He just buried his head in his knees again.

He couldn't take this.

It should've been a cue for the bastard to just _stop talking_ , but he did not, voice unwavering and solid as he continued in the quiet rain. "Two months ago, I told you that Hughes had retired to the country. That was a lie. He had been murdered. He's... dead, Edward. And I lied to you, and I deliberately did not look for you even when I knew something was wrong, because I didn't want to tell you that. I didn't want to look you in the eye and tell you that my best friend was dead because a very large part of me couldn't accept that he wasn't coming back. I was selfish, trying to protect myself, lied to you, and I caused all of this through it. I'm _sorry."_

Ed was simply too far gone to feel shock, anymore.

"Seems like you don't have any problems accepting that now," he murmured at last, tilting his head back. He watched the storm clouds roll overhead rather than the blood drip down Mustang's face, and relished in the numb disbelief of it all that kept him from keeling over with the sheer horror of everything that had just happened.

The hand on his shoulder tensed.

"I heard his last words, shot him thirty-six times in the face, and looked him in the eyes as he died. ...I think I know he's not coming back now, anymore, Ed."

The rain fell even harder.

Somehow, the only thing more dead than the grey, lifeless, washed out, miserable little alleyway he'd trapped himself in was Mustang's voice.

"So, the real Hughes is... is dead, then," he mumbled at last. It'd taken him god knew how long to finally recovered just enough composure to manage to speak, and Ed shuddered shoving the lump in his throat down again.

If grief hadn't already settled in his chest hours ago, its weight so heavy it desperately tried to strangle him, he probably would've felt the difference more now.

As it was, he was just numb.

Mustang's hand on his shoulder gripped spasmodically. There was another harsh, hitched breath, and when the answer finally came, it wasn't anything more than a strangled whisper. "Y... yes."

Once again, Ed was just too far gone to even bother questioning him on it.

"And... the homunculus?"

When Mustang hesitated again, Ed swallowed, struggling to both find his voice and quiet the storm of memories fighting for his attention, the way Hughes'- the homunculus'- whoever the fuck's hands on his shoulders had felt, that _look_ in his eyes, the things he'd _said..._ "You c-can't kill them," he choked, drawing his arm tighter around himself and refusing to look up. "You can't... s-so, then..."

So... he _hadn't_ killed anyone...?

Relief hesitantly started to unfurl around him, very cautiously and slowing giving him a warm embrace and washing away the blood and showing him light for the first time- but even as he felt himself start to rise, almost float in ecstatic, panicked relief, he knew it didn't matter.

He'd still stabbed him in the heart.

He'd still looked another living, breathing, thinking human being- at least, he'd _believed_ he was- in the eye, and murdered him.

The sickened self loathing, churning just under that hesitant breath of relief, returned full force.

Mustang cleared his throat uneasily. "You don't have to worry about the homunculus anymore, Ed," he said, vague as ever, then shifted again, clearly preparing to go on. "For now, just stay calm; we're just going to find Al. Everything's fine, okay? So, let's just go-"

"Don't do that." Ed shut his eyes tightly for a beat, somehow releasing a barely controlled sort of gasp. "I'm not a kid, Mustang. Don't treat me like one. Just tell me what happened."

It was quiet again.

Mustang's wet, bloody hand stayed on his shoulder, and for the first time, Ed realized where all the blood could've come from, if he wasn't injured.

"I know the homunculus is dead, Edward," he said at last, faint and barely audible under the rain, "because I killed him. It's as I said. I shot Hughes thirty-six times in the head, watched him die, and burned the body."

The hand on his shoulder tightened again, fingernails abruptly digging into his skin and fisting over his jacket, and suddenly he found himself jerked forward, pressed against his broad chest with an arm so firm around his shoulders he couldn't break away.

"And I thought you were dead, too, Ed."

His voice quavered, trembling with anguished sincerity until it broke, and the arm tightened around his back again until he was hard pressed to even breathe.

Something was wrong with him. That much was obvious. And even if there hadn't been, it was cold and rainy, and Mustang was dripping with water and blood, water and blood now dripping all over him, too, and after- after _everything,_ one thing he absolutely shouldn't want right now was a grown man pressing himself up against him and holding him.

But Ed was just too _tired_ to be frightened any longer.

He gave in and shut his eyes, daring to let himself believe, at least for one damn second, that he was safe, and it was over.

The entire time, he said nothing, and Mustang didn't, either.

"I'm tired," Ed mumbled at last, head still slumped, half resting against his own arm, half against Mustang.

He meant it in more ways than he could ever say- and Mustang, thank god, understood he was talking about far more than just the physical.

"Can you stand?" the colonel asked quietly, his voice rough. He shifted on the ground, arm gripping Ed a little tighter, but otherwise did not move at all.

If he hadn't been so far gone, Ed might've felt shame that he had to shake his head. As it was, all he could think was that _standing_ was so far beyond him Mustang might as well have asked him if he was capable of flight. His legs felt like leaden jelly and his body like a used up dish rag. Blood loss, maybe, or the head injury, or shock, or just...

He didn't care, really.

Just so long as he didn't have to walk anywhere, and just so long as he could find Al.

Mustang didn't make any sort of gesture to imply he'd heard the response, but Ed wasn't about to repeat himself. The colonel stayed still on the ground for several moments- then, without warning, gripping him tighter in his arms and rose into the air.

Once again, Ed found himself just too drained to do more than provide the token resistance.

"Don't need you to carry me, bastard," he mumbled, but his chest felt painfully tight and his breaths short and strained, mind still fogged and refusing to accept the horrors of the day.

Mustang just snorted, dark eyes not even lowering to give that comment any acknowledgement, but the hands around his shoulders and legs held him even tighter, and Ed just turned his face away into his chest, hiding from the world, shut his eyes, and blocked out everything except the rain.

* * *

This time, waking up was a far less terrifying experience.

He remembered going to sleep, for one. Granted, remembered going to sleep... in Mustang's _arms..._ but well, at least he remembered it. Last time, it'd been with the telltale headache and lack of memory that went along with being knocked out. There was a scratchy blanket around him now, he could feel the wool tucked down around his chin and covering his arms. And, best of all, to the anxious worry niggling already in the base of his stomach, he wasn't restrained, and he could not help himself from stretching a little surreptitiously, testing the freedom of movement and only letting himself breathe a cautious sigh of relief when he found himself unimpeded in the slightest.

The memory of steel handcuffs around his wrists and ankles still remained, so vivid he could almost feel the cold metal against his skin, and he swallowed, smile held back by the darker memories of fear and shame.

"...all right, I think. He was in shock, but, really... I couldn't expect anything less."

Ed smiled weakly, just barely, at the low, warm voice, distant and somewhere across the room, before he remembered who he was, and that that voice wasn't supposed to make him relieved. Then he just shook his head at himself and sighed, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. After everything that had happened, he could be relieved if he damn well wanted to.

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to him yet. He's been asleep since before we left the city." There was a short pause; the sound of the colonel shifting on his feet, and Ed squinted an eye open, glaring through the veil of his hair. "Okay. I will. I-" He fell silent abruptly as if he'd been interrupted, stiffening across the room. "That will be all, Lieutenant. Thank you."

The phone was hung up with far more force than necessary, and Mustang groaned, one hand lifting to massage his temples while the other still clutched around the phone, fingers trembling.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Ed faked a little cough, just loud enough to get his attention even as he hauled himself upright, clinking to the blanket like armor. The sound was all that was needed to alert the colonel, who swiveled around abruptly and regarded him with wide, exhausted looking eyes, but the shadow of irritation caused by whatever his lieutenant had said on the phone was chased away immediately, overtaken by concern.

"Fullmetal," he started, stumbling a step forward. "You're finally up. God... I was about to call a doctor, you'd slept for so long."

Ed just shifted uneasily, avoiding his eyes. "...Where are we?" he mumbled, clutching the blanket tighter to look around the small space. Someone's living room, it looked like. Nowhere he'd ever been before.

The colonel hesitated before crossing the room, moving to sit gingerly across from him at the edge of a coffee table strewn with files, fingers locked together. "My house."

Ed stared at him.

Mustang sighed, grimacing. "It was here, or a hospital, Fullmetal. I understand this might not be your favorite place to be- believe me, I never was cheering for you to find my address, either- but unless you want me to take you to a hospital, it's here. I apologize if the accommodations of my couch are more lackluster than your typical under a bridge cardboard boxes, or alleyway overhangs, but unfortunately this is really the best that can be provided."

It hurt to laugh, even as quietly and weakly as he did; he did it anyway. "Don't diss my cardboard boxes, you ass," he muttered, voice trembling, and pulled his knees closer to himself, staring at the floor. He felt no reason to mention that the last time he'd slept outside had probably been five months ago, and even then it hadn't been in a damn cardboard box but a tent like a normal person.

Mustang chuckled quietly himself, the gesture sounding just as strained and uncomfortable coming from him. "Well, then," he muttered after a moment, still looking away. "Now that you're awake." He patted what Ed only belatedly recognized as a first aid kit, turning away to rummage through it. "Time to stop you from bleeding on my couch."

Ed was torn between chucking the blanket over his head to make a run for it, or just pressing himself back tighter into the corner of the couch. He sided with option two, huddling into himself and glaring away, shivering. "You're not touching me with any damn needles," he hissed, even though the problem wasn't the needles so much as that he just didn't want to be touched at all.

He still couldn't really make himself look at him, and Mustang, for his part, did not seem very impressed.

"I don't particularly give a damn about your strange, irrational phobias at the moment, Fullmetal. Give me your arm."

"No."

"...Please."

He stiffened.

He'd been expecting another snarky insult. Or maybe for the bastard to just steal the blanket off him and ignore his protests. Not... that.

He sighed, flinching inwardly, and found himself meekly handing over his still aching arm, worn with lacerations from Hughes' knives when he'd started trying to cut his shirt off. He still couldn't look at him, and Mustang, thankfully, didn't comment, either on that or on the wound itself as he started to clean the blood away.

"Al's with Hawkeye," the colonel murmured, and something tight he hadn't even known was there until now loosened abruptly in his chest with relief. "I'm sorry for separating you two, but you were unconscious, and with you like that I wasn't going to stay in that city for a second longer than I had to. I don't know, exactly, what the homunculi want with you two, but they knew you were there. I wasn't staying to find out what would happen if they found you."

Ed flinched again, swallowing. The homunculi. Another torrent of sickening memories washed over him, and he opened and shut his mouth without speaking, simply unable to give voice to everything- or even anything that had happened.

The colonel seemed to understand, however, because he just nodded, dark eyes still focused on a bloody scratch circling his wrist. "I really don't know much more than you. Hughes couldn't... tell me anything, about what the homunculi are planning. He tried, but... Lust just wouldn't let him."

It took Ed several seconds to actually process what had been said. He still felt disoriented, his mind a fogged disaster, so at first the words just didn't mean anything to him at all. But when he finally filtered through and understood, he nearly jerked his arm out of Mustang's grip in surprise. "I- I thought you said Hughes was-..."

Mustang paused. One of his hands lowered off the wound, clenching tightly in his lap... so tightly Ed suddenly found himself glad it was away from his bare skin. "He was dead," he said quietly, eyes downcast. "His body was, at any rate. Lust, the homunculi, just- reanimated him, I suppose. Which dragged his soul back from the Gate. Temporarily."

Ed stared at him, horrified.

"It's gone now," the colonel continued listlessly. "I killed him. Hughes. Not Lust... Hughes was in control still, when he finally... died. He and the homunculus are both gone."

After a moment of silence, Mustang moved stiffly to continue bandaging his arm, features withdrawn but ultimately expressionless. "As I said before, I would greatly prefer it if you reserved any comments and kept them to yourself. Unless you think I should've tried human transmutation myself, this was really the only way for this to end. I did what I had to do." His dark eyes said quite clearly the matter was not up for discussion, and if Ed tried to push it, the colonel really might just get up and walk away to leave him to bleed to death on his couch- and for once, Ed really did not want to push the man for more details.

He had an explanation now, for why Mustang had been so bloody and distant when he'd found him, back in the rain, and he definitely did not like it.

"...Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly, his own words soft and struggling in the stifling quiet.

Mustang paused, his gaze still down. "No," he snapped back, tying a bandage tight, and with that, the matter was very clearly closed.

Swallowing, Ed just shook his head, able to tell this was not something he should push on. He just sat silently instead, waiting until the colonel had finished so he could pull his arm back, then chancing another look at him past his hair. At least he'd cleaned himself up, now. The only sign of the grime from before was an already stitched scratch on his cheek, a white bandage taped sloppily over it that made him think Mustang had done it all himself rather than see a doctor. Part of him wanted to ask how on earth Mustang had managed to get the better of a homunculus like that, but the rest of him...

He could already guess what had happened, and he definitely didn't want to hear it.

"It's all so unbelievable," he mumbled at last, wrapping his arms back around himself to sink under the blanket. "It was really... _Lust_ , that whole time?" He shook his head, horrified. "And Envy. I- I don't..."

"...It may not have been Lust the whole time, Ed."

It was said quietly, with a hint of almost despair, and next to him, the colonel slumped, burying his face in his hand with a low, defeated kind of sigh. "Hughes may have spared you more than you know. He may not have been able to exert outright control, but I know he would have done absolutely _everything_ that he could to stop her. He managed to stop her from killing me. He could've done the same for you..."

Ed flinched.

Once again, Mustang caught the motion, even just out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, he went still as well. His voice dropped even lower, and he looked vaguely uncomfortable now, hands twisting together in his lap as he hesitantly levered his nervous gaze on him. "I read the case files, of what he- of what Lust forced him to do, to those women," he said at last, voice thick. "And I saw where he was holding you, before you escaped. I... Fullmetal..."

Once again, everything he did not say, Ed heard.

Ed heard it, and his insides immediately curled up into disgusted, horrified anguish and shame.

 _So I'm planning to take the few hours I have left, and enjoy them to the fullest._

His tongue felt like lead, and the words tasted like poison. Suddenly, even the simple task of speaking was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

"It's n-not... what you think," he whispered at last. The speech was stilted and awkward, the phrases coming in bursts and starts as he managed to work up the will to say each one only for it to falter in the next second. "I- he- he didn't really- actually-" He wrapped himself up even tighter, suddenly acutely glad for the blanket and the waistband of his pants, while ripped and torn, was at least intact enough to still do its job. "I mean- Hughes, I guess it was him... stopped... he only tried," he finished at last, the words barely a choked whisper. "Nothing actually _happened._ He tried to, but he didn't r-really get anywhere... so... it's... not important, I guess. 'bout bit his fucking tongue off and that was the end of it. So, like I said, it's n-not a big deal, you know. J-just... nothing happened, so-..."

He shook his head abruptly, cutting himself off when he realized he was just babbling the same thing over and over again and talking himself into a horrified circle. He still felt miserably sick and talking wasn't helping.

It would be good, he supposed, to actually realize it had been two different people, not one, doing- _that..._ that the person who'd attacked him and the person who he'd trusted, who'd helped him, who'd let him go weren't the same...

But that was on a purely logical, scientific level. He knew it, but he didn't _know_ it. He didn't feel it or truly accept that yet, and he had a feeling it'd be a very long while before he could think of Hughes and feel anything but disgust or horror.

He could still feel Mustang looked at him, and knew very well he sure as hell didn't want to see the pity in his eyes, so he kept his gaze down on the corner of the couch as the colonel hesitantly shifted an inch closer, his hands shaking. "It is a big deal, Fullmetal," he said quietly, but Ed absolutely did _not_ want to get into this, or do anything but just block it out and pretend it hadn't happened, so he didn't dare even give the gutwrenching comment recognition.

"I don't even know what happened," he sighed again, for some godforsaken reason driven to keep talking. He leaned forward to bury his head in his hands, voice now muffled. "One second he w-was... doing... _that._ Then- then the next- well it didn't make any sense then, now I know it was Hughes... he was trying to help me. He let me _go._ And- and then..."

He flexed his automail under the blanket, feeling the rusty blood flake off where it had dried in the joints, and had to resist the urge to be sick.

"...Then I just _stabbed him."_

The look in Mustang's eyes made him feel far, far worse, and just unable to deal with it anymore, Ed looked down at his knees. He almost wanted to bury his head in them.

He sighed.

"I don't like hurting people," he said at last.

"Ed..."

"No, let me finish." Shaking his head, Ed closed his eyes for a breath, struggling very hard to regain some semblance of control over himself. "I know... I know none of you really _like it,_ either. That you're not like that. But that's not what I mean. I... I _hate it._ Even if it's a bad guy, and arresting him saves a lot of people, I still just... don't like to do it." He shrugged weakly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I do it for Al; just a necessary evil, until we get our bodies back, I guess, nothing I can't handle, but... I have nightmares, about all the blood, sometimes, Mustang. I can't stand it." A whimper melted into a groan, and he rubbed his hands over his face again, feeling them shake and the terror coil in his belly as his voice dropped into just a whisper. "That's the hardest thing about this. It was just _instinct_ to do it. I didn't want to kill or hurt anyone, but I didn't even think about it- I just _stabbed him."_

His chest clenched painfully again, reminding him of _exactly_ what the look on Hughes' face had been like, when he'd thrust his blade into his heart.

There'd been so much blood...

"I... I really, r- _really_ don't like to know that I did that, Mustang," he finished at last, voice small and choked, dwindling away into nearly nothing at all.

He knew, by the quiet silence after his words, that Mustang understood. That even if in the end, he'd really done nothing at all, just stabbed a homunculus who'd probably healed himself the moment Ed had stepped away- that didn't change anything. The fact of the matter was, he hadn't known Hughes wouldn't be killed by that blow, when he'd done it. He hadn't even known it wasn't Hughes.

If it had been anyone else, Ed knew that he would've killed him.

The fact that he could do that to someone... especially to someone like _Hughes-_ someone he'd known, trusted even, _cared for-_ it just-

He couldn't stand knowing he was capable of that.

Mustang shifted forward after several moments, tentatively moving just close enough to rest a hand on his arm through the blankets. His eyes were dark and imploring, showing nothing but unwavering confidence as he looked at him, the boy who'd stabbed his best friend in the heart.

"You know, Ed. Maes was the same way."

Still jumpy and thoroughly shaken, the glare Ed leveled on him was hardly on for the record books, but it got his point across, all the same, when Mustang sighed, allowing himself a weak smile. "I do understand what you're saying, Ed, I really do. None of us like hurting anyone, but- it doesn't weigh on me, like it does on you. At least... not self defense." He hesitated again, a shadow crossing his face, and Ed had heard more than enough of the stories about Ishval to know exactly where that look had come from. "But Maes was always like you. He wouldn't shy away in a fight, and he'd never flinch away from doing what he had to- but he hated it, too. He hated being capable of it, and he hated even more that he had to do it."

Ed shook his head in the nearly stifling silence, shuddering again. "Doesn't sound like he made a great decision enlisting, then," he muttered back, but his voice was thin and weak, choked with emotion, and he swallowed again, trying as hard as he could to stop being so pathetic at least manage to _sound like_ he was something close to okay.

Mustang wasn't close to fooled, it looked like, but he did at least have the grace not to call him out on it. "Not unless he had good reason to," was all he said, a quiet reminder of Ed's own reasons for enlisting, and the understanding that just because someone wore a military uniform did not make them okay with killing.

He just sighed, shutting his eyes again, and wished to forget.

"Ed." Mustang leaned forward, gripping his arm harder through the blanket. "Whether you want to believe me or not, at least listen to me. Maes was glad you stopped him, and I don't know a single person who'd tell you otherwise. What you did doesn't change who you are, it doesn't make your values mean any less to you, it doesn't mean _anything_ except you're human, and you don't want to die. Your life was threatened, and you reacted. That's all. You did what only what anyone else would've done, and you can't fault yourself for that."

It was all entirely too much to take now. Ed tried to yank his hand away, struggling valiantly to at least shove back the internal torment and anguish that was too much to bear, or just get the cue to the bastard to stop talking, but Mustang refused. "Even the most kind-hearted pacifist will fire a gun, Ed," he pressed, staring at him hard until Ed had nowhere to look but back at him. "All it takes is the right reason. ...And... even if you don't like knowing you're capable of this, then know at least that I do. I'm damn glad you're capable of doing whatever you have to to stay alive- and so is... was... Maes."

And it was all _still_ to much to take, so Ed just didn't let himself do it. He leaned forward to bury his face in his hands, taking hiccuping little breaths that were almost sobs as he fought desperately to calm down. His mind was still spinning, fast than he could even cope with and he just started babbling, unable to help it as the shocked and horrified words stumbled out without his consent."N-none of it makes any sense at all," he gasped finally, trembling hard all over again and pressing at his eyes, trying to shove the tears that wanted to form back where they belonged. "I... it was Lust and- and Envy... this whole t-time? I can't- I can't even _believe_ this, - that damn Lieutenant Schmidt, it was _Envy_ we met- god I'm such an idiot-"

"It hardly makes you an idiot you didn't think to assume a homunculus-"

"And even two months ago! When we first left! _Now_ I know why you were acting so weird when you gave us the mission!" He smacked a hand to his head, shaking his head at himself in horrified self disgust. "You didn't even fucking call me short _once_ and I just thought you- why the hell didn't I realize it was Envy?!"

"Ed, come on, I made the same mistake as you-"

"A-and when he told us all those fucking women- he was just _working-_ Mustang, I could've helped them, I could've saved them, if I'd just fucking _listened_ to m-my instincts but I d-d-didn't and- and now they're-"

This time, when Mustang's arms went around him, it didn't make him calm down. He just kept talking, mouth moving and words coming as his mind raced and voice rose, but the colonel's arms tightened around him and held him close until he ran out of air and things to say, and they tightened still when Ed found himself silent but shaking, and tightened even further still when miserable, anguished tears betrayed him and rose to his eyes again, and he just hid his face in his shirt and let himself fall apart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hiding himself from the rest of the world, and he didn't even know what he was apologizing for. The dead women. What Hughes had done to Al. What Hughes had done to _him._ What _he_ had done to _Hughes._ That Hughes was dead. That Mustang had killed him. That this entire time he'd done nothing to help anyone- that he was still this pathetic, terrified mess that just desperately needed something to hold onto- that holy hell Hughes could've _raped_ him and there was absolutely nothing he could've done to stop it- that he still felt like a bloodstained murderer, that- that-

"I'm _sorry_ ," he choked out again, then just pressed his head against Mustang's stomach and sobbed.

And in that moment, the only thing that mattered anymore was Mustang's powerful, safe arms around him, and the man saying it back.

"So am I."


End file.
